







\ 




* 






I 























































. 


•• 


* 












' V 










■ *■ 




* 

% 


























■*- , 

\ • 




















































* 










♦ 
















- ' 


























































































*. 












































































c 






























9 






































I 












/ 











FILIAL AND FRATERNAL 


PIETY. 


brother Philippe, 

SUPERIOR-GENERAL OF THE BROTHERS OF THE CHRISTIAN 

SCHOOLS. 



TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, 

By CHRISTINE FARYILLE. 


NEW YORK: 

P. O’SHEA, 104 BLEECKER STREET. 



1864 










Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, 

By P. O’SHEA, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States 
for the Southern District of New York. 

X 


L is-r 


% 


S’ 




\ 


A 

* % • % 


% 




PREFACE. 


Dear Children: 

Many motives prompt us to offer you this little 
book. The first is to afford you pleasure, whilst 
we converse with you about yoirr dearly beloved 
parents, of your good father and of your tender 
mother, who live, as it were, but for you. The sec¬ 
ond is to caution you against bad examples, which, 
on some future day, might fall under your observa¬ 
tion, and make dangerous impressions upon your 
hearts. Likewise is it to strengthen you against 
the inclinations of nature, and against the power 
of certain circumstances | which might sometimes 
cause you to forget your duties, towards your good 
parents. Yes, .dear children, many young men 
have loved their fathers and their mothers; they 
have respected them, obeyed them, and rendered 
them the services which their wants required; but, 
unfortunately, pernicious examples, temptations 
which they have not Combated, or combated care¬ 
lessly ; inclinations weak at first, then violent, im¬ 
portunate, dangerous, have made them forget their 
duties, and they have become bad sons as well as 
bad Christians. 

Such will not be your case, dear children } you 
will continue to give happiness and consolation to 
your beloved parents by the love, the respect, and 
the obedience which you will unceasingly show 



4 


PREFACE. 


them, because you will have learned the princi¬ 
ples of religion, and you will always keep them 
engraven in your hearts. 

With this hope we engage you to read atten¬ 
tively the book we here present you. The advice 
it contains will be of use to you; the stories will 
amuse you, and, at the same time, they will incline 
you to the practice of sublime virtues; some of 
which will inflame your hearts with a love for 
parents who are so dear to you, and who also love 
you so ardently; others will teach you to see in 
them the person of God himself, and thereby dis¬ 
pose you to respect them; furthermore, they will 
render the practice of obedience gentle and easy. 
Others, again, will show you all the care we should 
bestow upon those who have given us birth, and 
who have had such care of our childhood; how we 
should pray for them, and obtain for them in their 
old age the means to prepare themselves for the 
voyage of this world which passes to a happy 
eternity. 

We shall conclude this interesting volume by 
showing how beautiful it is for brothers to live in 
that peace and harmony which is a foretaste.of the 
happiness which the blessed enjoy in heaven. 


CONTENTS 


LOYE TO PARENTS. 


Chapter I.—God is our Father. 

The Orphan. 

A Courageous Child... 

Chapter II.—A Child must Love his Father and 

his Mother. 

The Three Hats. 

The Great Captain... 

A Friend... 

The Traveller.. 

Mr. Dellegran. 

The Young Peasant Girl. 

The Son of a Chinese.. 

Two Ggptives. 

Pliny. 

Casa-Bianca.'. 

Sarah. 

Robert. 

A Picard in the Flames with his 

Mother. j .. 

Dialogue on the Love of Children for 
their Father and their Mother.... 

, Maternal Love.•..* 

The Widow and her Six Children... 
The Leper. 


PAGE 


14 

19 

20 
26 
28 
29 

33 

34 
36 

36 

37 

38 
40 
43 

52 

53 
61 
62 
66 


RESPECT TO PARENTS. 

Chapter I.—A Child must Respect his Father 


and his Mother .'. 70 

The Doge of Venice. 72 
























6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 


A Lawyer of Paris. 73 

Lemierre.i. 74 

Chapter II.—Want of Respect towards Parents 77 

. A Widow and her two Sons. 81 

Unfortunate Children. 84 

A Mother’s Curse. 85 

Dialogue on the Respect of Children 
for their Fathers and Mothers ... 88 

BEARING WITH THE FAULTS OF OUR PAR¬ 
ENTS. 

Chapter I. 100 

Abibe. 103 

Joakim. 105 

Anthony. 107 

A Good First Communion. 110 

Dialogue on how we should bear 
with the Faults of our Parents... Ill 

RESPECT DUE TO OLD AGE. 

Chapter 1. 123 

Duras.. 126 

Maurice de Sully and his Mother .. 127 

John Baptiste Rousseau. 128 

An Act of Pacha Djezzan. 131 

The Two Blankets. 133 

The Earthen Pot. 134 

Chapter II.—Respect due to our Grandparents 

and other Relations. 134 

The Little Chinese. 137 

The Faithful Servant of a Knight of 

St. Louis ..... 140 

The Respect of Spartans. 143 

Chapter III.—A Child must Obey, Love, and Re¬ 
spect his Masters. 144 

Aristotle. 147 
























CONTENTS. 


7 


PAGB 


Arsemius. ...!.. .... 147 

An Ingrate. 149 

Stanislas Kotska. 148 

The Athenian Philosopher and his 

Disciple. 151 

Alexander the Great. 152 

Dialogue on the Respect and the 
Consideration due to Old Age and 
to our Teachers. 154 


' OBEDIENCE TO PARENTS. 

Chapter I. —We Must obey our Father and our 

Mother.: it is the Law op God 166 
Chapter II.— We must obey our Parents: noth¬ 


ing IS MORE REASONABLE. 169 

The Young Armenian. 173 

The Courageous Boy. 174 

The Refractory Child. 175 

The Moon. 178 

Dialogue on the Obedience of Chil¬ 
dren towards their Parents...... 181 

BODILY ASSISTANCE DUE TO PARENTS. 

Chapter I.—A Child must help his Father and 
his Mother in their Temporal 

Wants. 191 

Poor Mary. 196 

The Famine. 202 

The Affection of Young Belccmbe.. 204 

A Widow and her three Sons. 206 

Paul and Andrew. 208 

Twelve Brothers—Soldiers. 211 

A Noble Little Apprentice. 213 

Peter. 214 

The Beggar. 217 

Dialogue on the Bodily Help due to 
‘ Parents by their Children. 222 
























8 


CONTENTS. 


SPIRITUAL ASSISTANCE DUE TO PARENTS. 

PAGE 

Chapter I.—A Child must Pray for his Parents. 234 

The Son of a Gendarme. 235 

Chapter II.—A Child must procure Spiritual Assist¬ 
ance for his Parents. 236 

Anniversary. 239 

The effocts of a Father’s Example.. 240 

If my poor Mother knew it--,. 244 

The Palsied Man and his Daughter. 247 

The Sedan Chair.;... 250 

Human Flesh—A Remedy. 251 

A Pious Little Girl Rewarded. 254 

The Last Farewell .:. 255 

Heroic Sacrifice. 258 

The Honored Tomb. 260 

Dialogue on the Spiritual Assistance 
which Children owe to their Par¬ 
ents . 262 

CONCORD BETWEEN BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 

Chapter I.—1. We must Love our Brothers and 

Sisters. 273 

Cato of Utica?. 273 

2. Let us Love our Brothers and 
our Sisters—it is our InteiSsst 275 

. The Generous Brother. 275 

3. Let us Love our Brothers and 
Sisters, and abhor jealousy .. 277 

The Two Jealous Brothers.276 

Ruin. 280 

The Unequal Portion. 281 



















IOVE TO PARENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

GOD IS OUR RATHER. 

I. 

Each day, my dear child, with our eyes 
cast towards heaven, we address to Him 
who reigns therein, those beautiful words : 
Our Father ! 

We have, then, a father in.heaven ! This 
father is God! He is the Creator of the 
universe, and the absolute Master of all 
things'! Yes, it is this great God whom we 
may liot only call Creator and Protector, but 
also Father, and we are His children ! 

Yes, we are truly the children of God! 
How sublime is this thought! HoW admira¬ 
ble! How consoling for us in future life! 

Sublime thought! It is not the greatest 
monarch in the world who is my father, but 



10 


FILIAL AND 


the only great, the only powerful, the only 
eternal, the only Master who reigns in 
heaven and on earth! 

The power of the sovereigns of this world 
comprehends but a portion of the globe, and 
it will end; that of God comprehends 
hdaven and earth, time and eternity ! 

Admirable and beautiful thought! All 
that exists is the work of my Father: the 
earth and all it contains, the sea and all 
within its waters, the mountains and the 
valleys, the trees and the delicious fruit, the 
plants and the flowers, the bread that nour¬ 
ishes us, the air which we breathe, are so 
many marks of His goodness, are the works 
of His hands ! n 

Consoling thought for the time being, and 
hopeful thought for eternity ! My Father is 
Almighty, he can do all that.he pleases, he 
wishes only my good, because he is goodness 
itself; what, then, can befall me ? He who 
feeds the birds of heaven, and who beautifies 
the flowers of the fields, could he forsake his 
child who venerates and loves him ? Would 
he allow the slightest harm to happen to him ? 
Ho ; for he himself assures us that not a 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


11 


single hair shall fall from our head without 
his knowledge. Oh ! consoling thought! 

I have sometimes, indeed, offended' the 
great God, who is the essence of holiness, 

but he is my Father.he has pardoned 

me ! He wishes not the death of his chil¬ 
dren—but their life and their happiness! 

.Heaven belongs to my Father—his 

goodness will put me in possession of it as 
of a precious inheritance. I shall enjoy, 
then, some day, this delightful abode, with 
my Father, with Mary, my Mother, with 
afl the elect! Oh! consoling and hopeful 
thought for eternity! 

THE ORPHAN. 

One* day a poor boy was standing near a 
grave, where he shed abundant tears, for 
there lay the mortal remains of his well¬ 
loved parents. He was doubly an orphan ; 
his mother had been taken from him, and 
then his father had been ravished from his 
love. Ah ! how keenly, how cruelly he felt 
his loneliness! 

“ Alas!” said the unhappy boy, “ I have 
no father. The hands which worked for me 




12 


FILIAL AND 


and which gave me bread are now withering 
in the tomb. Never more shall I see upon 
his lips the smile which smote my heart with 
delight; those lips, whence flowed so many 
lessons for my good, are now closed forever. 
Nobody loves me as he did. Ah cruel, cruel 
is my fate!” 

Such was the lamentation of the poor 
orphan boy, and he shed floods of tears upon 
his father’s and mother’s grave. Suddenly 
his eyes fell upon a cross, on which was 
sketched an angel pointing to heaven, and 
showing the beautiful prayer : Our Father 
who art in heaven. Consoling words, which 
swept as a heavenly sunbeam through the 
soul of the poor orphan, and banishing there¬ 
from the dark clouds which enveloped it, 
with gloom. Filled with consolation he 
wiped away his tears, joined his hands, and 
prayed anew: “ Can it be, great God of 
heaven, that I have so soon forgotten you ? 
You are left to be my father; I have not 
lost you. You have called my father away, 
and now you replace him. You love chil¬ 
dren far more than their earthly fathers 
love them. You have .given us for brother 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


13 


jour own Son, and by him we are admitted 
into the number of your children; therefore, 
you my father who art in heaven, do not 
abandon your poor child who is alone on 
earth. Yes, I have confidence that you will 
watch over me and guide me to heaven!” 

Such was the orphan’s prayer, and he felt 
solaced. Our Heavenly Father took care of 
him ; he did not become rich, but that which 
is infinitely more precious—he lived happy 
and contented, and his Father who reigns in 
heaven shall enrich him in eternity. 

- II. 

God has shared the rights he has over us 
with those whom he has chosen to give us 
b t eing and life. He could have created us 
himself, as he created our first parents, 
Adam and Eve; but he has not willed it so; 
he has made substitutes for his Divine Prov¬ 
idence : they are our fathers and our 
mothers, he has destined them to give us the 
being, the life we enjoy. Consequently, this 
father and this mother are for us the repre¬ 
sentatives of God, yes of God himself. 

But God has not merely communicated to 
2 


14 


filiAl and 


our parents a part of liis power, a part of 
his providence; he has equally communi¬ 
cated to them a part of his rights over us; 
inasmuch as he wishes us to give him a just 
tribute of our homage, he wishes us also to 
render to our parents the duties which the 
rights they have over us claim: duties of 
love and duties of respect, duties of esteem 
and of submission, duties of service and of 
gratitude, duties relative to the body and 
relative to the soul, duties during life and 
duties after death. That is to say, every 
child must love his father and his mother, 
he must respect them and o*bey them, put up 
' with their faults, assist them in their wants, 
pray for them during their lifetime, and ex¬ 
ecute their last will. 

A COURAGEOUS CHILD. 

A nobleman of the highest rank, in Ger¬ 
many, had been prostrated for. some time by 
dangerous illness, and now he had learned 
that all hopes of his recovery were given up 
in a final consultation, held by the Faculty 
of Medicine, the decisions of which, very 
fortunately, are not always infallible. Sin- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


15 


cerely pious, and full of confidence in Prov¬ 
idence, lie was preparing himself for death, 
with all the courageous serenity of the just 
man. However, despite his resignation, he 
could not forbid a deep feeling of sorrow at 
the sight of his wife and his three children 
(the eldest had not attained the age of ten) 
from whom he was about to be severed. 
The poor mother, now threatened to be soon 
a widow, was totally inexperienced in the 
management of worldly matters, and till 
then accustomed to rely for the present as 
for the future upon a husband, who sought 
to spare her the slightest responsibility. To 
whose care should he confide those orphans, 
and the administration of a large fortune, 
comprising extensive lands, farms, and- 
forests? Could he reckon upon the fore¬ 
sight and the integrity of a stranger, for the 
bearing of so heavy a task ? Such thoughts 
*were troubling the dying man’s mind, when 
suddenly his countenance brightened, and a 
smile quivered upon his ashen lips; an in¬ 
spiration from heaven had doubtless en¬ 
lightened him. “If my eldest boy,” said 
he, “ is some day to be a courageous tnan, I 


16 


FILIAL AND 


must know it now, and I shall die in peace.” 
He calls the sobbing child, who rushes into 
the arms of his father, whom he supposes to 
embrace for the last time. 

“ My son, you see that God is calling me 
to him, and by my death your mother, your 
sister, your brother, and yourself, will be 
left without their natural protector ! What 
is to become of you when you are alone ? 
Who can replace me when I am gone$ 
Who ?” added he, fixing his eyes upon his 
son, whose tears ceased to flow, but who 
shuddered as the dying man’s accents fell 
upon his ear. “ My son, it must be you ! 
Can you promise me this ?• Have you, when 
the fatal hour of my death shall have rung, 
sufficient courage to undertake this great 
duty ?” 

A ray of light passed over the child’s 
pale face: “Yes, father, I shall be worthy 
of your confidence, worthy of you 1 I shall 
endeavor to accomplish your desires. Pray 
that God may give me necessary strength 
and courage.” 

“ Thanks, my son, thanks. How I shall 
die in peace,” said the father, as with joy 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 17 

and admiration he pressed his son to his 
breast. “ Ho, God will not abandon you : 
and receive, as a last token, my blessing, 
which will draw down upon you the bless¬ 
ings of heavenand the boy knelt under 
the uplifted hand of his father. But Provi¬ 
dence was satisfied with this proof of resig¬ 
nation, and with the beautiful sentiments of 
the boy, and he did not exact the fulfilment 
of the sacrifice. After this affecting scene, 
and seemingly under its happy influence, the 
sick man felt as if animated with new life; a 
favorable and miraculous-like crisis unex¬ 
pectedly manifested itself, and, most for¬ 
tunately, belied the sinister predictions of 
the doctors; in short, the supreme goodness 
of God spared the dying man,^nd he re¬ 
covered. 

The year following, and the day on which 
the child had attained his eleventh year, 
he sought. his father’s 1 presence and said: 
“Father, though the Lord has spared you to 
us, I have not forgotten my promise, and I 
come now to renew it. Allow my brother to 
choose whatever career best suits his taste. 
As for me, I shall remain here, with the hope 
2 * 


18 


FILIAL AND 


of soon taking part in the management of 
our affairs—and lighten, in a degree, the bur¬ 
den which rests so heavily upon you.” It 
were needless to say that the father’s heart 
filled with the purest emotions of paternal 
love and joy, on hearing his son speak in a 
strain which betrayed the feelings of a noble 
heart and the precocious maturity of reason. 
Notwithstanding his tender age he already 
regarded him as a man, in reason. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

A CHILD MUST LOYE HIS FATHER AND HIS 
MOTHER. 

The love of a child towards its father and 
its mother is a sentiment which cannot be 
defined; you feel it, you are affected by its 
sweet influence, but no human tongue can 
express its nature. Could you, indeed, my 
dear friend, tell me what your heart experi¬ 
ences when you are enjoying the society of 
a good father and a tender mother? Could 
you explain the satisfaction and the'happi¬ 
ness which their fond embraces give you? 
You feel your delight, your heart seems 
drowned in an ocean of tender emotions, 
your eyes fill with tears, but your tongue can¬ 
not speak other words than “ I love them.” 

Yes, my dear friend, love your father, love 
your mother; it is the voice of nature, the 
Yoice of gratitude, the voice of religion: it is 
God’s own law. Love your father and your 
mother ; it is the voice of nature ! 


20 


FILIAL AND 


We find an illustration of this lesson in 
the very animals. Observe those little 
chicklings, how they follow the hen that has 
hatched them; what affection they have for 
her, what confidence in her protection ! See 
the lambkin, how it knows the voice of its 
mother. How eagerly it clings to her ! Lis¬ 
ten how pitifully it bleats when taken away ! 
Mark those young birds deprived of their 
mother; they can no longer eat, drink, or 
sleep; many of them waste gradually away, 
they chirp lamentably, and very soon they 
die of grief. 


THE THREE RATS. 

Here is the account of an officer, who is 
as judicious as he is a faithful observer of 
the mysteries of nature. “ I was this morn¬ 
ing,” said he, “ reading in my bed. I was all 
at once disturbed by a noise resembling that 
of rats clambering up a partition. I ob¬ 
served attentively: I saw a rat appear at the 
edge of a hole, he peeped around, then with¬ 
drew. In a minute he reappeared; he was 
leading in, by the ear, a rat much larger than 
himself and apparently aged; having left 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 21 

him near the edge of the hole, another young 
rat joined him. They both travelled about 
the room, picking up the crumbs of bread 
which had fallen from the supper-table the 
preceding evening; and they carried them 
to the rat which was stationed at the brink 
of the aperture. The attentions of those 
animals astonished me! I watched them 
more closely. I supposed the old rat to whom 
the other two rats brought crumbs was 
blind, for he groped timidly as they offered 
him the bread. I had no doubt but what 
the two young ones were his children, and at 
the same time they were the assiduous pro¬ 
viders of a blind father. I admired, in¬ 
wardly, the wisdom of nature, which has 
endowed all animals with an intimate ten¬ 
derness, a gratitude, and, I might say, a virtue 
in proportion to their faculties. Whilst I 
was thus musing and meantime fearing lest 
something might disturb the little animals, 
our surgeon-major opened the door of my 
room. A faint cry was uttered by the two 
young ones, as if to forewarn the old rat; 
and, notwithstanding their fear, they would 
not. escape until the old rat was in safety. 


22 FILIAL AND 

They entered their hole after him, serving 
him, as it were, as a rear-guard.” 

If this narrative be true, and if it be exact 
in all its minute details, as we are readily 
disposed to believe it, what a lesson it affords 
man ! ( Journal Encyclojp. of 1757.) 

Love your father and your mother ; it is 
the voice of gratitude ! 

“ Oh, my son,” exclaimed Saint Ambrose, 
“ what do you not owe to her who gave you 
birth ! What care has she not given you ! 
What painful and loathsome duties has she 
not performed for you! What solicitude! 
What privations! To what number of 
sacrifices has she not condemned herself, to 
assure your health and your welfare! Her 
only thoughts are of you ; she lives, as it 
were, but for you alone !” 

And this laborious father, see how he 
worries, how he bustles, how unceasingly 
he works at the sweat of his brow; he ex¬ 
poses himself to all the inclemencies of the 
seasons, lie goes, he comes, he is ever busy; 
he wears himself away, he drags out an ex¬ 
istence to bring you up, to procure you com¬ 
forts, whereof he deprives himself in your 


FRATERNAL PTETY. 


23 


favor ; he allows yon, so to speak, to live on 
his ow r n subsistence. Oh! my dear child, 
what tender affection you should have for 
your parents, who have given you such an 
evidence of an affection so tender, so gener¬ 
ous, so effective*! No; your love for your 
parents can never be too great, too tender, 
too affectionate, provided it be not contrary 
to or abo.ve that which ' you owe to God. 
And, indeed, could we love to excess a father, 
a mother who have loved us so tenderly—so 
constantly. Oh ! above all, let us not forget 
that love can be returned but by love alone ! 
Try, by whatsoever means God permits, to 
give them pleasure, to show them a just 
gratitude ; heartfelt confidence, gentle words^ 
amiable manners, kindly behavior, affec¬ 
tionate endeavors. In every possible way 
let us prove to them our sincere devotion. 

THE POWDER MAGAZINE. 

The dreadful catastrophe occasioned, in 
1795, at Grenelle, by the sudden explosion of 
the powder magazine—will be long remem¬ 
bered. It is quite natural to suppose that 
every one was terror-stricken, when five 


24 


FILIAL AND 


hundred thousand /pounds of giwipowder 
blew up all at once in the air, and shook the 
city and the faubourgs of Paris in their very 
foundations, and when this frightful powder 
storm dismembered and dispersed the pal¬ 
pitating bodies of eighteen hundred work¬ 
men. 

At the time of this disaster, a child of 
twelve years*was boarding in a school at a 
league’s distance from his mother, who lived 
at Yaugirard. Trembling with fear, half 
dressed and without ha4, he ran breathless 
to find the object which he most cherished in 
the world. 

What joy for this young child! He had 
fancied his mother buried within the ruins 

.and he now sees her extending 

her arms to greet him. He embraces her, 
he mingles his tears with hers, but he utters 
not a word —so seized is he with fear and 
joy! He is heated and bathed in sweat, 
and they hasten to give him something—to 
prevent the serious consequences of his 
present State. He objects—saying that he 
had left school without permission. “ Mam¬ 
ma,” said he, “ I did not ask leave to come 



FRATERNAL PIETY. 


25 


and I wish to return, for I no longer need 
be uneasy in your behalf.’’ 

So, to conciliate all duties at the same 
time, and without eating or changing his 
linen, the affectionate child escaped from the 
caresses of his mother, and returned as 
promptly as he had come. 

Love your father and your mother ; it is 
the will of God,. 

Do not let us forget, dear friend, that God 
has not only been satisfied to allow our 
parents a share in his power, by calling them 
forth to give us life, and by imposing on 
them the obligation of bringing us up in the 
path of virtue, but he has likewise given 
them a legitimate part in the love that we 
owe to him. And, indeed, how could he 
have commanded us to love our neighbors 
and even our enemies, that is to say, such as 
wish us, or that have done us, harm, and that 
he would not have commanded us, above all, 
to love those who have done us so much good, 
namely, our father and our tender mother? 
Yes, God wishes us to love them, and that 
after him, they be the first objects of our 
love ; he desires that at the very name of 
3 


26 


FILIAL AND 


father and mother our hearts swell with feel¬ 
ings of the most tender, affectionate, and 
sincere love; he wishes this love to he so 
intense, so deep and so true, that we become, 
if circumstances exact them, equal to the 
most difficult sacrifices! But why speak of 
sacrifices, when the love fSr a father or for a 
mother fills the heart of *a good son ? Does 
not such love make all things easy and 
agreeable ? 


THE GREAT CAPTAIN. 

The great exploits of Epaminondas, and 
particularly the battle of Leuctra, had drawn 
upon him the attention anddlie admiration 
of all the neighboring people. They looked 
upon him as the protector and the restorer 
of Thebes, as the conqueror of Sparta, as 
the liberator of all Greece, in short, as the 
greatest captain and the greatest man that 
ever had been. In the midst of such general 
applause, so capable of producing, on the 
minds of ordinary men, an intoxication 
which makes them forget what they are and 
what they owe to others, Epaminondas, less 
sensible to glory than to the honor which it 


FKATEliNAL PIETY. 


27 


shed upon his parents, said: “ My joy is 
that , which I know the news of'my victory 
will cause my father and my mother .” 

How worthy of admiration are such 
words ! History has nothing more beautiful 
.to transit to posterity than the noble senti¬ 
ments of great men. 

Love your father and your mother ; it is 
the voice of Religion. 

If it he impossible for man to love God 
without also loving his neighbor, with much 
more reason can it be said that no child can 
love God, and be consequently in the way 
of salvation, if he do not love his father and 
his mother, with all the effusion of his soul! 
Ho; Religion will never own as her child 
him who overlooks so essential a duty, who 
tramples underfoot the second obligation of 
the commandments, and who does not love 
those whom God has chosen to give him life. 
And this love must not merely be in his 
heart, it must manifest itself in every way, 
on every occasion. It is by attention and 
kindness, by gentle and respectful words, by 
the assiduity to please them, by entering 
into their views, that children prove whether 


28 


FILIAL AND 


they really love those whom they call father 
and mother. 


A FRIEND. 

Mr. D-was going ont of church with 

his son Charles, a young lad of fifteen years. 
The weather was beautiful and clear, and 
most tempting for a morning walk. “ Join 
one of your friends,” said the father to the 
son, “ and go together into the fresh country 
air.” 

“ Oh ! father, what say you ? One of my 
friends ? Why, I have but one !” 

“ And who is he ?” asked the father. 

Then young Charles flung his arms around 
his father’s neck, and clasping • him fondly 
and closely, said: “ Here is my friend, my 
good friend, my only friend; I covet no 
other!” 

To express the happiness of the father 
would be impossible. But his joy was great 
indeed, and the night of that same day 
every one learned from his own lips that 
which had taken place. 

There, my dear friend, is how a son should 
love his parents. In such like manner should 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 29 

he evince the feelings which penetrate his 
heart. 


OTHER EXAMPLES. 

THE TRAVELLER. 

A young man was filling a situation in 
Bordeaux, and having learned that his 
mother was dangerously, ill, and that she had 
no one to care for her, he wished most ar¬ 
dently to see her once more before she died; 
so, without giving himself time to return 
to his lodgings for the necessary money for 
his journey, he .straightway bent his steps to 
the railway terminus, fully persuaded that 
they would give him credit when they should 
learn that his mother was dying. Alas ! ho 
was deceived. The ticket agent spoke to 
him with all becoming politeness, informing 
him meantime that inasmuch as he was 
obliged to submit his ticket to the general 
stamp, and even though he were the most 
honest man in the world, to give him credit 
w^,s utterly impossible. At this refusal, the 
poor young man felt totally discouraged, and 
in his despair he had but the strength to ex- 
3 * 



30 


FILIAL AND 


claim: “ Oh! my mother, my mother! You 
may be dead before I see you ; shall I never 
again embrace my mother f ’ 

Touched with pity, one of the clerks came 
forward, and thus addressed him: ‘ c Com¬ 
rade, here are nine francs, which will enable 
you to go and see your mother. I give them 
to you in the name of my mother, whom I 
dearly love. Ah! if I knew her to be ill 
like your mother is, I would part with all I 
possess to go and embrace her. Quick, take 
your ticket, the train is going to start.” 

No sooner had he heard those words than 
his courage returned, he heard no more. 
Away he rushed towards the train, which 
was at that moment moving on. At last he 
is on the road, but in what state of mind! 
“ Oh, mother!” would he say in a wdiisper, 
“ Oh, my mother, am I to see you again ?” 
The passengers were deeply affected, and 
they endeavored to console him, but in vain, 
he did not heed them; his heart was too full 
of the thoughts of his mother; his tongue 
could only pray to God to spare her to him. 
When lie arrived at the end of his journey, 
a few moments sufficed to bring him near 


FRATERNAL PIETY. ft 31 

the object of his affection. As he approached, 
however, he trembled with fearful anticipa¬ 
tions lest those who presented themselves to 
his view, to his eyes bedimmed with tears, 
should give .him sad tidings. Some seemed 
to tell him of her death, others to give him 
consoling hope. 

At length his wishes were accomplished 
and heaven rewarded him for his noble feel¬ 
ings. He soon learned that his mother 
lived, that he could see her, know her, and 
even speak to her! “ Oh ! thank heaven,” 

cried he, “ I shall see my mother.” And 
there he bent over the bed of the dying 
woman! lie pressed her in his arms, he 
bathed her with his tears, and he spoke to - 
her in the most affectionate manner, evinc¬ 
ing the while a pious and admirable resigna¬ 
tion. 

His mother was left to him several days 
longer, during which time he cared for her 
day and night, and he had the happiness to 
assist at the touching ceremony of the last 

sacraments.At length the supreme 

moment had come, and the dying mother 
breathed her last in the arms of her son. 



32 # FILIAL AND 

God rewarded tlie young workman’s filial 
piety. Whilst putting in order the little 
affairs of the deceased, he found the nice 
little sum of 12,000 francs, which she had 
reserved for him. On the box -which con¬ 
tained it, were written these words : To my 
dear son . 

It may well be supposed that on his return 
to Bordeaux, the young traveller hastened to 
communicate to his benefactor the result of 
his journey, and to give him back not only 
the amount received, but along with it ten 
times its value! Thence sprung up between 
these two honest workmen a mutual and 
generous combat. The loaner was too happy 
to have been instrumental in the cause of 
such happy results, the heart of the young 
traveller felt indebted to the generous clerk. 
In short, it was agreed that the former would 
accept the nine francs and & simple breakfast 
on the following Sunday, whereby the links 
of* a sincere friendship would be closely 
riveted. 

By means of his inheritance, this worthy 
son established himself in business, and 
never forgetting his mother’s lessons, he con- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


33 


t inn ally sought to unite activity with the 
holy precepts of Keligion, and God poured 
down upon him His abundant graces. 

MR. DELLEGRAN. 

During the revolutionary troubles, Mr. 
Dellegran was arrested in the city of Lyons ; 
and while he was in captivity, he became the 
object of the constant care of his young 
daughter. An order having been issued to 
transfer him to Paris, and then to the Con- 
ciergerie, the young lady , asked to be ad¬ 
mitted in the conveyance which was to take 
him away. This favor was denied her; then 
Miss Dellegran, without consulting her physi¬ 
cal strength, followed from. Lyons to Paris 
the wagon on which her father was placed, 
seeking to afford him some little consolation 
on the way. On arriving in Paris they were 
to separate, and she shuddered that it might 
be forever. For three months the poor girl 
incessantly solicited such persons as might 
interest themselves in her father’s behalf; 
oftentimes she lingered sorrowfully on the 
steps of the prison, so as to approach herself, 
as it were, to him. At length, after accom- 


34 


FILIAL AND 


plishing the most extraordinary feats of de¬ 
votedness, she had the happiness to obtain his 
long-sighed-for liberty. Armed with the or¬ 
der for his freedom she flies to the prison, and, 
clasping her father in her arms, she apprises 
him of the joyous news. Once free, she led 
him triumphantly into the midst of his 
family; but she sank under the weight of 
her grief, and did not long share the happi¬ 
ness caused by so unexpected a return. 

THE YOUNG PEASANT GIRL. 

One daj, Gtistavus, King of Sweden, was 
riding through a village; and perceiving a 
peasant girl drawing water from a well, he 
approached her and asked her for a drink. 
She presented it to him with nature’s own 
simple grace. “ Beautiful girl,” said the 
prince, “if you will follow me to Stock¬ 
holm, I shall procure you an agreeable ex¬ 
istence.” 

“ Although,” answered the girl, “ I have 
as much desire to make my fortune as I have 
confidence in your promise, it would be im¬ 
possible for me to accept your otfer. My 
mother is sick and poor, and has but me 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


35 


alone, to care for her, and nothing in the 
world could induce me to leave her.” * 

. “ Where is jour mother ?” 

“ In that little cabin yonder.” 

The king entered, and saw upon a miserar 
hie straw pallet, a woman weighed down 
with infirmities. Moved at such a scene, the 
prince said to her: “ Ah! poor mother, I 
pity you!” 

“ Alas! Sir,” answered the woman, u I 
would be a much greater object of your pity 
if I had not this good and generous girl, who 
by her tender care tries to prolong my days. 
That God may bless and reward her,” added 
she, as a flood of tears fell from her eyes. 

Gustavus was, perhaps, never more pleased 
to occupy a high rank than at this moment, 
when his heart was alternately affected with- 
pity and admiration. “ Continue,” said he, as. 
he slipped a purse into the hands of the girl, 
“ to care for your mother; I shall soon give 
you means to fulfil this pious duty with ease. 
Farewell, amiable girl; I am your king !” 

On his return to Stockholm, the king as¬ 
sured to the mother a yearly pension, which 
was transferable to this virtuous daughter. 



36 


FILIAL AND 


THE SON' OF A CHINESE. 

A Chinese had been condemned to deatl 
for several crimes which he had committed 
When the son of this wretched man had 
learned his father’s doom, he went to tho 
governor, and throwing himself on his knees, 
begged him to take his life, instead of that 
of his father. The mandarin closely ques¬ 
tioned him, so as to discover whether this 
idea hacl not been, suggested by some one 
else. When fully convinced of the sincerity 
of his feelings, he wrote to the emperor, who 
sent back the father’s pardon and an honora¬ 
ble title for the son. But the latter refused 
to accept this distinction, saying, it would 
remind the public of his father’s misde¬ 
meanors. The emperor, admiring such a 
noble sentiment, had him brought to the 
•» Court, where he was the object of every one’s 
praise. Later, his own personal merits raised 
him to the rank of Minister of the State. 

TWO CAPTIVES. 

Some Christian slaves had been redeemed 
in the city of Algiers, and at the moment 
of their departure, a corsair arrived in port 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


37 


with a Swedish capflire. Amongst the pris¬ 
oners was the father of one of the redeemed 
captives. They knew each other, rushed 
into each other’s arms, and wept bitterly. 
The young man’s heart was full of sorrow 
to think that his poor old father should re¬ 
main in captivity, and he begged of the 
Algerines to allow him to take his father’s 
place. “ I am stronger,” added he, “ and more 
fit for the work exacted from slavesT They 
consented. When the Dey heard of this 
noble action he ordered this generous son to 
be released from his chains. Father and 
son were sent away free. 

PLINY. 

During the famous eruption of Mount 
Vesuvius which occasioned the death of 
Pliny the naturalist, his nephew, Pliny the 
younger, was living with his family at 
Miseno, a town situated at a short distance 
from the volcano. All the residents of the 
neighborhood fled for safety; Pliny alone, 
did not seem to fear the danger which 
threatened him. His whole thoughts were 
to save his mother. She implored him to 
4 


38 


FILIAL AND 


fly, telling him that her *old age and her in¬ 
firmities would hinder her from following 
him, and that the slightest delay exposed 
them both to the same death. Her prayers 
were of no avail, and Pliny was resolved to 
save his mother or die. Despite her entrea¬ 
ties, he led her away amidst the showering 
cinders, the vapors which enveloped them, 
and the smoke which changed the day into 
the gloom of night. Thus surrounded by 
darkness, they had nothing to guide their 
trembling steps, but the light of the mena¬ 
cing fire and the flames which were spreading 
far and wide. But Pliny remained unshaken 
in his constancy; naught could induce him 
to abandon his mother. He consoled her, 
he aided her on, he carried her in his arms: 
his devotedness gave him a herculean cour¬ 
age, and Heaven at length rewarded his ad¬ 
mirable conduct. He had the happiness to 
save his mother, who was more precious to 
him than the life he owed to her. 

* CASA-BIANCA. 

-A portion of the army of Egypt was sta¬ 
tioned in the port of Alexandria; our vessels 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


39 


were anchored before Rosetta, not far from 
the coast, when, on the first of August, about 
three o’clock in the morning, the English 
fleet, commanded by Admiral Nelson, ap¬ 
peared before our squadron. A terrible en¬ 
gagement ensued; Casa-Bianca, a former 
deputy, was suddenly shot in the shoulder. 
He fell fainting into the arms of his son, a 
boy of some twelve years, who had been 
fighting by his father’s side since the begin¬ 
ning of the battle, and had evinced a cour¬ 
age and a valor far above his age. To com¬ 
plete misfortunes, the vessel took fire. Be¬ 
set on all sides, the vice-commander saw no 
other hope of salvation than in a speedy 
retreat. He ordered young Casa-Bianca to 
enter a life-boat, and to escape from the 
enemy. But the boy answered, with admira¬ 
ble presence of mind, that he must save his 
father or share his death. And, in the midst 
of peril and danger, amidst the bullets of 
the enemy, which strewed the ‘deck, while 
the flames reached the masts, the shrouds, 
the rigging, and the water streamed from 
on high, threatening at every moment to 
bury them in the deep,—in this hour of 


40 


FILIAL AND 


supreme horror, the boy watched over his 
father, stanched his flowing blood, placed 
him on a mattress, and fastened him to a 
broken mast, on which he allowed himself 
also to be strapped, with the commander; 
then five of the remaining sailors cast them 
on the ocean, for there was no longer a life¬ 
boat to receive them. 

But alas! at the moment when those un- 
happy men were so steadfastly clinging to 
hopp, at the moment when young Casa-Bianca 
extended his supplicating hands to a vessel 
which was near, at the point of gaining glory 
and honor in saving his father—the Orient, a 
vessel of 120 guns, exploded, with a frightful 
detonation. Then the flaming fragments of 
the ship rose high, like burning rockets, and 
strewed the sea around. 

Casa-Bianca, his son, and the commander 
were buried in the deep. 

SARAH. 

“ What afflicts you, my good man ?” 

“ Alas ! Sir, have you not seen my daugh¬ 
ter?” 

He who thus spoke was a poor old blind 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


41 


man, who was sitting on the trunk of a tree, 
beside a spring.. His wallet, his silvery 
locks, the stick on which he leaned, his 
trembling hands, his half-closed eyes, and 
his plaintive voice,—all those signs made me 
think that Providence was testing one of her 
children, by seemingly forgetting him. The 
spring, which gently flowed by him with its 
soft murmurings, seemed alone sensible to 
his woe. The poor man sighed, and told me 
his history in a few words. He had worked 
for fortv years, with the sweat of his brow, 
to amass a few hundred crowns, which he 
lost by bankrupts; and has never since re¬ 
covered from his cruel losses. 

“ For ten years, I do not exist,” continued 
he, as he raised his hand to his eyes; “ these 
ten years I seek my last resting-place, and I 
would fain cast from me tlje remainder of 
my life. Many of the poor can hope, but I 
cannot.” 

“ Good old man, do not lose all hope; you 
will be cared for; you can yet be h^ppv.” 

“Yet happy! I cared for! Ah! Sir, 
could the greatest potentate in the world 
give me one only, ray of light ?” 

4* 


42 


FILIAL AND 


This answer so struck me, that I turned 
towards the sun, to convince myself of its 
existence. He was silent for a while, as he 
leaned on his stick and bent low his forehead. 
Then, sighing deeply, he said : “ Without my 
daughter, ah ! without her, long since would 
I have Ceased to complain ; and then, when I 
wish that my life would end, when I wish to 
die of hunger, the poor child weeps, clings 
to me, calls me her father, her good father, 
so many times! So tenderly ! But my 
daughter is not coming back! My daughter, 
my dear daughter, have you left me here 
to die 

Hereupon, his daughter arrived, breath¬ 
less. She had been begging for her unfortu¬ 
nate father. Her appearance awoke in me 
feelings of pity, admiration, and respect, 
so beautiful was her filial piety. Oh, I 
should not have blushed if I had recognized 
in her one of my own family. 

“ Is it you, dear Sarah ? Is it you ?” said 
the old man, as he extended his trembling 
arms to receive her; a where are you, so that I 
can fold you to my breast!.,... Oh ! you 
were so long coming, that I knew not what 



FRATERNAL PIETY. 


43 


to think. For a moment, I feared to be for¬ 
saken forever.” 

Sarah drew near her father, kissed his 
venerable forehead, and moistened with tears 
his spare white lo'cks. 

ROBERT. 

A yotjng- man, named Robert, was waiting 
on the coast (at Marseilles) for some one to 
hire his boat. A fetranger entered, and was 
on the point of stepping out again, notwith¬ 
standing the presence of Robert, whom he 
did not suppose to be the owner. 

“ As the boatman is not coming,” said he, 

“ I shall pass into another boat.” 

“ Sir,” said Robert, “ this is my own boat, 
do you wish to get out of port ?” 

“ No; I merely thought of enjoying a row 
on the river before night closed in; but you 
don’t look like a sailor.” 

“True, Sir, I am not a sailor; but the 
want of money forces me to seek employ¬ 
ment during my leisure hours.” 

“What! avaricious at your age? This is. 
a shame which mars your youth, and lessens * 


44 


FILIAL AND 


the interest inspired by your pleasing ap¬ 
pearance.” 

u Ali! Sir, if you knew why I wish to 
make money, you would not, indeed, add to 
my sorrow by believing me guilty of such a 
low vi6e.” 

“ I may have wronged you; but yoir have 
not explained yourself. Let us have a row, 
meantime you can tell me all your troubles, 
for your looks have disposed me in your 
favor.” 

“ I have but one trouble,” said the young- 
man ; “ it is that of having a dear father 
bound in chains; and this may last I know 
not how long! My father was a broker in 
this city, and had obtained, by means of his 
own and my mothers earnings, an interest 
in a merchant vessel bound to Smyrna. He 
took charge of the buying and the selling of 
the stock. The vessel was seized by a pirate 
ship, and taken to Tetuan, where my father 
remains prisoner, with a greater part of the 
ship’s crew. They want 10,000 francs for 
his ransom; but, as he had made large out- 
days so as to increase the business, we are far 
from possessing that sum. However, my 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


45 


mother and my sisters work day and niglit, 
and I contrive to do my part as a clerk in a 
jeweller’s shop, and I seek besides, as you 
perceive, to fill up my leisure hours. We 
have retrenched our mode of living in every 
possible way, and one room forms out -lodg¬ 
ing. At first I thought of going to take 
my father’s place, and thus release him from 
his cruel chains. I was about putting this 
idea into execution, when my mother assured 
me that such an undertaking was as rash as 
it was impracticable; and she forbade all the 
captains of the Levant to take me on board.” 

“ Do you ever hear from your father ? Do 
you know the name of his master in Tetuan, 
and in what manner is he treated?” 

“ His master is the intendant of the king’s 
gardens; they treat him with humanity, and 
the labor to which he is subjected is not above 
his strength. But he is our father; he is so 
good, and we are not there to comfort him ; 
he is far from us, from his dear wife and his 
three children, whom he loves tenderly.” 

“ What name does he bear in Tetuan ?” 

“It is not changed; they call him Rob¬ 
ert.” 


46 


FILIAL AND 


“ Robert ? in Tetuan ? at the intendant of 
tbe gardens ?” 

“ Yes, Sir.” 

u I am touched at your sorrow, my good 
friend; and, in consequence of your noble 
sentiments, I predict you the accomplish¬ 
ment of your wishes, which, indeed, you sin¬ 
cerely merit. Meanwhile, let me now enjoy 
a few moments solitude in this spot.” 

When it was night, Robert had orders to 
put him ashore. Then the stranger, slipping 
a purse into the young man’s hands, disap¬ 
peared without allowing him time to express 
his thanks. The purse contained 400 francs, 
mostly in gold coin. Such generosity gave 
Robert the highest opinion of the stranger, 
who had listened with so much interest .to 
his sad tale. In vain did Robert seek him, 
to-assure him of his lasting gratitude. 

Six weeks elapsed since this extraordinary 
occurrence, and those good people worked 
on indefatigably, to complete the sum men¬ 
tioned. One day they were partaking of a 
frugal meal of bread and dried almonds, in 
the narrow room which was their home, 
when a man entered, and surprised them in 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


47 


tlie midst of their trouble and their misery; 
he was cleanly clad. Heavens ! .... it is 
Robert, their father. What astonishment! 
What exclamations of joy! What tears 
were shed, in their happiness. Robert em¬ 
braced his wife and his children, and told 
them how thankful he felt for the 12,000 
francs which he received at the moment he 
embarked on the vessel, where his passage 
was already paid; for the clothes which were 
furnished him, etc.; he knew not how to ac¬ 
knowledge" so much solicitude and attention. 
The surprise of the mother and the children 
increased at every word mentioned; they 
could not comprehend this mysterious lan¬ 
guage, and they looked at each other in their 
bewilderment. At length, the mother broke 
silence : she supposed that her son had done 
all this without consulting her; she told her 
husband how zealously he had labored since 
the beginning of his captivity; how he had 
endeavored to go and replace him, and the 
means whereby she had prevented him from 
so doing. “ Twenty thousand francs,” added 
she,“ were necessary for the ransom ; we had 
but a little more than the half, most part of 



48 


FILIAL AND' 


which was the proceeds of his assiduity to 
business; for the rest, friends must have 
aided him.” 

All 'at once the disheartened father grew 
thoughtful and gloomy, and thus addressed 
his son : “ Unhappy boy, can I owe you my 
liberty without regret ? How could it have 
remained a secret to your mother, and not be 
bought at the price of virtue ? At your age, 
unhappy son of a slave, one cannot easily 
obtain so much money. I shudder to think 
that filial piety may have made you culpa¬ 
ble. Confide in me, be sincere, do not con¬ 
ceal the truth; have you been guilty of dis¬ 
honesty ?” 

“ Banish your fears, dear father,” cried the 
virtuous son, as he embraced him tenderly; 
“your child is not unworthy of this title, 
nor lucky enough to have effected your free¬ 
dom, which, in truth, you do not owe to me ; 
I know your benefactor, oh yes, I know 
him. Do you remember, dear mother, the 
stranger who gave me his purse—how he 
questioned me thus: ‘ "Where is your father? 
What is his name? Who is his master?’ 
Were I to spend my whole life, I shall find 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


49 


him again, and he shall admire the fruits of 
his generosity.” 

Then this dutiful son related the incident 
"which had taken place, restoring, mean¬ 
while, the peace and the happiness which 
- had, for a moment, given place to fear. 

Restored to his family, the honest Robert 
found friends and means. Success surpassed 
his hopes. After ten years, he had acquired 
a little fortune ; and his children, who were 
all settled in life, shared the happiness of 
their father and mother. This happiness, 
indeed, would have been unalloyed, had it 
not been for the absence of the stranger, who 
had manifested so much disinterestedness in 
their behalf. And yet the grateful son 

sought him continually.However, he 

was losing all hopes of arriving- at his ends, 
when, one Sunday morning, he saw his ben¬ 
efactor sauntering along the quays. “ Ah ! 
my prbtecting angel,” exclaimed he; and he 
threw himself at his feet,—he could say no 
more. The stranger hastened to relieve 
him, and then he asked him the cause of his 
emotion. “ What! could you have forgotten, 
Sir,” exclaimed the young man, “ Robert and 
5 


i 



50 


FILIAL AND 


the poor family which you have assisted in 
so admirable a manner?” 

“ You mistake, my friend, I do not know T 
you, nor can you know me; I am a stranger 
in Marseilles,—I am here but a few days.” 

“ That may be, but do you remember that, * 
twenty-six months ago, you were here in my 
boat; you took interest in me; you ques¬ 
tioned me upon circumstances which led you 
to become our noble benefactor. Liberator 
of my father, know that nothing is wanting 
to complete our happiness, if it be not your 
presence. I implore you, do not deny me 
this favor; come now, and behold a happy 
family—come!” 

“I have already said, my friend, that 
you must be laboring under a great mis¬ 
take.” 

“ No, no, Sir, I am not deceived; your 
countenance is too strongly engraven in my 
memory and in my heart. Come, I Keg of 
you, come !” And the young man forced 
him, as it were, to follow him. 

“ Sir,” said the stranger, u this is going a 
little too far; some similitude may cause your 
error. Calm your excitement, and return 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


61 


liome to enjoy the tranquillity which you 
seem so much to need.” 

u What a cruelty!” cried the young man ; 
“benefactor of our family, why refuse to 
crown the happiness which we owe to you 
alone; why remain so inexorable, and refuse 
the tribute we offer to your delicate feelings! 
And you, all here present, mingle your en¬ 
treaties with mine, so as the author of our 
felicity may contemplate the fruits of his 
own work 1” * 

At these words, the stranger seemed to 
yield to those pressing solicitations; but all 
at once, and unawares, he escaped from the 
sweet enjoyment offered to him, and he-dis¬ 
appeared in the midst of an astonished 
crowd. This stranger would be unknown 
until this day, if, after his death, his lawyers 
had not found amongst his papers a note of 
7,500 francs, which had been sent to a 
banker in Cadiz; they had taken informa¬ 
tion . thereof, and the banker answered, that 
with the said amount, a Marseillais, named 
Robert, had been freed, according to the 
order of the Secondat—Baron de Mon¬ 
tesquieu. 




FILIAL AND 


It is well known that this illnstrions per¬ 
sonage loved to travel, and that he often 
visited his sister, Madame d’TIericourt, who 
lived in Marseilles. 

A PICARD IN THE FLAMES WITH HIS MOTHER. 

Under the reign of Henry IY., the 
truops of the Queen of Hungary, com¬ 
manded by Count de Roux, were committing 
terrible devastations throughout Picardy. A 
young man from the neighborhood of Roye 
had run away from his parents, and, though 
quite young, had joined the foreign army. 
How w r ar had brought him back to his 
native place, and they were ravaging the 
very village where he was horn. The 
affrighted residents fled to the church for 
protection; hut the merciless captain of 
the detachment commanded his soldiers to 
set fire to the place. The young Picard 
shuddered at the thoughts of so inhuman an 
act. The screams of his compatriots reached 
the inmost recesses of his heart; the love of 
country strengthened him against fear, and, 
despite the rigid orders of his commander, 
he left the ranks and opened the church- 


I 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 53 

door, to release all those unfortunate crea¬ 
tures. A woman stands before him dis¬ 
figured by the fire; he gazes at her atten¬ 
tively. Oh! surprise! It is his mother! He 
has no words to speak, but he rushes into 
her arms and weeps. Then the cruel cap¬ 
tain commanded him to disregard the pres¬ 
ence of this woman, but Nature forbade him 
to obey, and he remained in her embraces. 
This scene would have moved a tigernot so 
with this monster, who, becoming more and 
more furious, ordered them both to be pre¬ 
cipitated into the flames, wherein this young 
man expired, martyr to the deepest and most 
beautiful sentiments of filial piety. 

DIALOGUE ON THE LOYE OF CHILDREN FOR 
THEIR FATHER AND THEIR MOTHER. 

Persons represented. —Emma, Jinny, Emanuel, and 
Felix, brothers and sisters, and Maurice, their cousin. 

Emma .—My dear Maurice, you just hap¬ 
pen in time. You must now help us to 
finish our bouquets, and then we shall go 
and wish our dear father a happy feast-day. 
For this' reason, my brothers had leave to 
come home earlier than usual from school. 

6 * 


54 


FILIAL AND 


| Maurice .—With all my heart shall I help 

you to weavte your garlands of flowers, and 
with you shall I offer them to my good 
uncle. Ah ! you are very happy to accom¬ 
plish a duty which I have never known; my 
father and mother died when I was very 
young, and I don’t even remember them. 
Alas! I think I would have been worthy of 
their affection, I could have loved them so 
tenderly. 

Jenny .—Do not lament, Maurice, do not 
murmur against the decrees of God ; if He 
has deprived you of your father and your 
mother, has He not consigned you to the care 
of our parents, who cherish you as their 
own son. They are, indeed, your guardian 
angels. 

Maurice. —True, and my gratitude to them 
is alone equalled by my affection. Every day 
of my life I shall endeavor more and more 
to merit their kindness. 

Emanuel .—What a sweet satisfaction those 
words afford us; we have but one heart 
and one soul to see you share such sonti- 
ments! Yes, you are worthy of their affec¬ 
tion, since you love them as we do ! 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


55 


Emma .—A love which will be the means 
of his happiness as of ours. 

Jenny. —Oh, indeed! we cannot feel too 
rejoiced that God has placed it in our hearts, 
and that He has cultivated it by the examples 
and the lessons of our family. 

Felix .—I think as you, sister; this love for 
our parents becomes a true source of felicity, 
being at the same. time a sacred duty, im¬ 
posed on us by God himself. Nothing then 
gives more joy to the soul, more gladness to 
the heart, than the accomplishment of a di¬ 
vine precept, which, likewise, is the voice of 
our nature. 

Emma .— It cannot be possible that there 
are children who do not love their parents! 

Jenny .—If there be such children, oh, 
how unhappy they are; how I pity them! 

Emanuel .—I dare not say the name they 
merit: they are not Christians, they are 
not men ; by their insensibility, by their in¬ 
difference to their parents, they trample under 
foot the most natural, as well as the most di¬ 
vine laws. You cannot look upon them with¬ 
out fear; they dP&w down upon themselves 
the scorn of man, and the vengeance of God. 


56 


FILIAL AND 


Felix .—Terrible punishment! dreadful 
misfortune! which, however, they could 
avoid, if for one moment they would con¬ 
sider the devotedness, the tenderness, of their 
parents. Devotedness and tenderness un¬ 
limited and of every day, not merely mani¬ 
fested in the first years of childhood, but yet 
in after years, throughout their whole life. 

Emma .—In such like manner have we 
always been the objects of our father’s and 
mother’s solicitude. I cannot remember 
their care towards me during those years 
which separate infancy from childhood ; but, 
being the oldest of you all, I well know what 
it has been for you. Besides, their emi¬ 
nent virtue does not allow me to doubt, for a 
moment, but that I have likewise been the 
object of the same tenderness, at that age 
when I was unable to appreciate all the im¬ 
portance of their first lessons. I was not big, 
it is true, at the birth of Jenny and at that 
of Felix, but I have witnessed w r ith compas¬ 
sion the solicitude of my mother, and the 
love which made her equal to fatigues, 
troubles, and privations ; have I not often told 
you this, dear Jenny, and you, dear Felix ? 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 57 

But I have the same pleasure in repeating it 
as you have to hear it, without being depriv¬ 
ed of my own share of her solicitude, with¬ 
out our household affairs suffering the least, 
my kind mother seemed, as it were, solely 
taken up with you. And while she perform¬ 
ed all those duties with a zeal, a courage, 
a perseverance, which you now admire, her 
eye was ever watching your cradle, whither 
she would run at the slightest sound of 
your voice ; she tried to console you, though 
you did not understand her, by such words 
as a mother’s heart alone can dictate. Our 
father, too, as much as his business would 
allow him, shared with gladness iny mother’s 
care at evening ;* how overjoyed he was to 
greet us each in our turn, as he held us on 
his knee and embraced us. 

Felix .—I can very well fancy our father’s 
tenderness, by that which he now evinces in 
our behalf. 

Emma .—What goodness when we are ail¬ 
ing! How uneasy, how alarmed he is at 
our slightest sufferings! His pain seems 
greater than ours, and what more can we ex¬ 
pect ? 


58 


FILIAL AND 


Jenny. —How, ungrateful we should be if 
we did not give him a just return of tender¬ 
ness and love! 

Maurice .—And that which gives him 
pride and consolation, dear cousins, is, that 
not one amongst you will ever be guilty of 
ingratitude. Tenderness for tenderness! 
such is your motto. 

Felix .—Thank you, cousin, for your good 
opinion. * 

j Emanuel. —Well, this is only right. I 
should blush for myself and for my brothers 
and sisters, if there was amongst us one who 
did not love our dear parents, and who 
would not, if necessary, sacrifice his life for 
them. 

Emma .—I agree with you, dear Emanuel; 
and, for my part, I should prefer being con¬ 
fined to my bed for three months with sick¬ 
ness, to seeing my father or mother ill. Oh, 
how grieved I should be if any thing were 
to happen to them ! 

Jenny .—The thought of it makes my 
very heart break. Let us talk no more 
about it, for my eyes are already full of 
tears. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


59 


Felix .—Banish your fears, dear sister; 
God will watch over our parents; and as for¬ 
merly He blessed Joseph and young Tobias 
for their filial piety, so wfill He bless us for 
loving our parents. 

Emanuel .—He wdio feeds the little birds 
of heaven will protect those who are, for us, 
the representatives of His Providence; He 
will give health to our father, because he is 
our support and our protector. 

Felix .—He is all the world to us indeed. Of 
what are we in need, whilst we are with him ? 
If there are privations to be endured, they 
do not fall upon us; our parents suffer them 
so that we shall not feel their effects. It is 
love that gfves resignation, and it is this 
same feeling which gives our father cou¬ 
rage in the midst of the rudest labor; and 
though years roll over his venerable head, 
never does he curtail his daity task; on 
the contrary, he often lengthens it, so as to 
furnish to our wants. He would consider 
the life he has given us as a fatal present, if 
he were not likewise to procure us the means 
to make it happy in this world and merito¬ 
rious for the next; first, in teaching us to 



60 


FILIAL AND 


know, love, and serve God ; and is this not 
the greatest mark of love he can give lis ? 
Secondly, in allowing us, according to his 
means, the instructions suitable to our sta¬ 
tion in life, and to the hopes he may 
cherish for the future. To arrive at this re¬ 
sult, whereby we shall be the first, and, in¬ 
deed, the only recipients of such advantages, 
he resigns himself to every possible sacrifice. 

Emma .—Oh, no ! do not speak of resigna¬ 
tion ; but is it not with joy, with happiness, 
he makes those sacrifices ? And you will 
agree with me that he would consent to be 
stripped of all, to be reduced to the greatest 
poverty, sooner than see us unhappy, or not 
responding to the hopes he entertains of see¬ 
ing us later, in society, children of sound 
principles, of true and Christian-like virtues. 
Oh ! I tremble to think that were his hopes 
frustrated, his good and loving heart would 
be filled with mortal grief. 

Jenny '.—And how describe the sorrow of 
our dear and tender mother? 

Felix .—What gloomy thoughts for a fes¬ 
tive day ! Why allow them to penetrate our 
minds? why should they enter our hearts, 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


61 


since, with the help of God, we shall, by the 
reciprocity of our love, be the comfort of our 
father and mother ? This true and sincere 
love will be for us an attentive counsellor, 
who will keep us from error and danger; 
and will encourage our efforts to advance 
in the path of virtue—the first and sweetest 
return our parents can expect from us. 
This love will be every moment a monitor 
who will remind us of our duties and who 
will teach us to shun evil. 

Emma .—With those sentiments, and those 
generous resolutions, let us go and embrace 
our parents; and as we offer those flowers, 
let us dedicate them, as a token of our un¬ 
changeable love, as the vows we address to 
Heaven for their preservation and their 
mutual happiness. 

MATERNAL LOYE. 

We shall not conclude this chapter with¬ 
out giving a few examples of maternal and 
of fraternal love, so as to excite children yet 
more, to fulfil faithfully their duties towards 
parents who love them so tenderly. 


62 


FILIAL AND 


THE WIDOW AND HER SIX CHILDREN. 

God has placed over us, in his merciful 
goodness, a being whom He charged to 
make us understand the love wherewith He 
is filled for his creatures. This being is our 
mother. What care, what constant solici¬ 
tude, what enjoyments, we owe her from our 
birth ! There is no hero’s life, which, put in 
parallel with that of the youngest and poor¬ 
est of mothers, could stand a comparison. 
Heroism is an ordinary trait in a mother’s 
character ; it is her life, her food, the inspira¬ 
tion of all her movements. Oh ! how we 
should praise God to have thus given us an 
angel to watch over our youth! Alas! 
when we have lost our mother, nothing in 
the world can replace her. 

We present Madame D-as a remark¬ 

able example of this devotion. Born in 
opulence, surrounded from infancy by all the 
advantages of a large fortune, nothing had as 
yet tried that courage with which God had 
endowed her. At the age of twenty-five she 
began a life of sorrow, which few, fortunate¬ 
ly, have been called to suffer. She was left 



FRATERNAL PIETY. 


63 


without fortune, at the head of her six young 
children. She had to leave her country, 
abandon her acquaintances, and establish 
herself in Paris, to provide alone for her large 
family. She accepted this heavy task with¬ 
out murmuring against the divine will, 
which imposed it on her. For twenty 
years she was reduced to the most painful 
privations, to constant work, to late hours, to 
fatiguing business transactions. She found 
nothing too hard or too difficult to accom¬ 
plish for the benefit of her children. She 
said inwardly: “ I shall replace my children 
in the position whence they have fallen 
by my reverses of fortune. I shall give 
them education, an honorable position; then, 
when my task is done, if I do not succumb 
beforehand, I shall die with satisfaction : this 
is my constant prayer to God. 5 ’ And she 
was faithful to her sublime resolution, which 
was looked upon as a folly by persons who 
did not understand that such a frail consti¬ 
tution could resist the arduous labors of so 
great an undertaking. Seized with cholera, 
given over by the doctors, she would have 
undoubtedly been a victim to this dreadful 


64 


FILIAL AND 


malady, had it not been for one thought 
which proved to he the infallible remedy; 
“My children want my care.” Her.energy 
saved her life. Prostrated by illness, at 
several intervals, she was restored to health 
by the memory of her children, which was 
ever uppermost in her mind. Meanwhile 
her children were growing, and success 
seemed to reward her for her trust in God. 
Sometimes, the poor mother’s, heart would 
overflow with joy, when she contemplated 
how her devotedness had beemrequited. 

With time, her protectors increased, and 
the future wore a brighter aspect. She now 
onl} r hoped for life to achieve the work she 
had begun. But alas! what new trials! 
In less than four years she successively lost 
four grown-up daughters; they were her 
companions, her comfort, her advisers. Two 
boys w r ere yet remaining, and for them 
alone she would not allow herself to sink 
under her overwhelming sorrow; had it 
been otherwise, she would by far have pre¬ 
ferred death! Therefore she tore herself 
from the embraces of those little ones, who 
knew not the woe of such a separation, and 

I 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


65 


she went 800 miles' away from France, to a 
cold and northern country, and there, during 
ten years, in the midst of sacrifices, illness, 
and injustice,- she saved, by the greatest dint 
of economy, that which was necessary for the 
education of her sons. Such greatness of 
soul should be rewarded, even in this world. 
Her children, brought up with care, now occu¬ 
py honorable positions, and in their turn, they 
have not lost sight of their mother ; they 
care for her, they console her, they conse¬ 
crate themselves wholly to her, and they 
afford her, in her old age, whatever com¬ 
forts are in their power, and with joy do 
they relate the affecting history wherein she 
'figures as so devoted a heroine. 

Let us draw two conclusions hereof, which 
are equally beneficial: that we must ardently 
love our mothers, since they are* capable of 
so much love for us; that, whatsoever be the 
troubles and trials of this life, we must 
never lose courage. God watches over us, 
and lie comes to the aid of those who hope 
in him. 


6* 



66 


FILIAL AND 


THE LEPER. 

Last evening the sky and the sea were 
sombre ; the day had been sultry, and from 
time to time mute flashes of lightning rent 
the cloudy horizon. I was walking alone'; 
there yet remained a faint glimmering of 
light; nothing disturbed the silence, save the 
noise of the sea, which struck against the 
beach. Suddenly I heard a voice; I listen¬ 
ed ; two persons came near me. Amid the 
darkness I perceived an old man, who was 
leading amongst the rocks a child which I 
had seen leaving the bather’s creek as people 
drew nigh. It was the father and the son. 
I remained motionless, and they did not see 
me: the son said : “ Still farther, they might 
come here.” 

“At this hour and in this, spot, you need 
not fear. See, how dark it is! You are 
tired, believe me ; let us remain here, the 
strand is smooth and the rocks will not hurt 
your feet.” 

“ Oh, it is not the rocks I fear, but to be 
seen. Father, let us go on; people might 
pass this way.” 


FRATERNAL FIETY. 


67 


“ Since you wish it,” answered the father, 

“ we shall go fartherand both of them 
continued their walk. The old man hap¬ 
pened to stumble, and in his turn, the son 
exclaimed : 

“ Father, you hurt yourself; let us remain 
here.” 

True, the boy’s father had hurt his 
leg against the rocks. He sat down, his son 
sat at his feet, and I heard him say: 

“ Father, why did I not die when I was 
quite young ? Then, I remember, no one 
shunned me. Our neighbors’ children 
plaj^ed with me, and they did not say / 
to them: t Do not play with Anselm.’ 
Father, what trouble I give you! Do you 
think I shall get well ? Oh no, never! 
never ! But, if you wish it, I shall do what¬ 
ever the doctors order. I shall do it, but I 
shall never get well.” 

“ Yes, yes, my child, do what the doctors 
order you, get well, and think of your mother. 
How happy she will be to embrace you 
when you return home !” 

w Olq she did not wait till I should be cured, 
no; when I was leaving her, she kissed me as 


68 


FILIAL AND 


before my disease. She wept over me; 
there, upon my cheeks, I felt her tears. Ah, 
it was a balm for me. Every one avoids 
me; but my mother did not, she pressed me 
to her heart!”' 

“ And me,” exclaimed the father, “ do you 
think you are less dear to me, because 
you suffer ? * Come, Anselm.” And I saw 
them folded in each other’s arms. The child 
loosed himself from his father’s embrace. 
In a tone full of emotion, the old man 
said : 

“ Anselm, undress yourself, I shall help 
you;” and, with a care which a stranger 
could not bestow, he divested the child of 
his clothes, threw on his shoulders a white 
linen with which he covered him, and, taking 
him in his arms, he advanced towards the sea 
and presented him to the coming waves. 

“ Are you in pain ?” would he often ask. 

“ Oh! not in your arms, father,” an¬ 
swered the child. And his answer likely 
doubled the old man’s strength, for I saw him 
a long time holding his son, who was ten or 
twelve years old, and present him to the 
beneficent shock of the waves. When they 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


69 


came back, and sat upon a rock, the father 
said, as he wiped his son : 

“My poor Anselm, yon were pained 
this morning because the public bather 
would not carry you in his arms, as other 
children ; you see you were in the wrong ; 
wbo would carry you as I do ?” 

“ Oh! nobody. But I tire you, father ; 
you will be tired of me.” 

“ Ah, Anselm! Anselm ! you do not know 
what a father’s heart is!” 

“ In your arms, I learn to know what 
it is, father.” They wept, and I wept too. 
The next day, very early, I met Anselm 
and his father coming from jchurch. Then 
I dared look at the unfortunate child ; it was 
a kind of leprosy which he had. They were 
going to post a letter; assuredly it was for 
the poor mother, and I doubt not but what 
they bade her to hope.— Viscount Walsh, 
“Lettres Vendeennes.” 


70 


FILIAL AND 


RESPECT TO PARENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

A CHILD MUST RESPECT HIS FATHER AND HIS 
MOTHER. 

He whp fears God, honors his father and 
his mother, and he will serve as his 
masters, those whom God destined to give 
him birth. “ He who honors his father 
and his mother,” says the wise man, “ is like 
a man who lays up treasures; and he who 
honors them profoundly will enjoy a long 
and happy life.” Let nothing then be able 
to alter such legitimate feelings; neither 
faults nor infirmities, nor weaknesses, nor 
poverty, nor the abasement of parents, 
nor the elevation of childTen. 

“ My son,” says again the wise man, “ de¬ 
ceive into your arms with tender veneration 
the tottering limbs of your aged father.” 



FRATERNAL PIETY. 


71 


Whatever be your age, and to whatsoever 
rank you may be elevated, respect your 
parents. Behold Joseph ; he leaves Pharaoh’s 
palace to meet his father ; at his approach he 
descends the first from his chariot, he throws 
himself upon his knees before this venerable 
old man, whom he bathes with tears of 
respect and tenderness. Salomon descends 
from his throne to receive his mother and he 
places her by his side, Behold Jesus Christ 
himself; He is God, and He bends with re¬ 
spect before Mary and Joseph. 

Let filial respect manifest itself in every 
possible manner, towards your parents. If 
it be sincere, your very outward appearance 
will give signs thereof; your manner, your 
tone, your attitude, your words, your civil¬ 
ity, your assiduity, your deference, your 
submission, all will betoken the respect and 
the veneration with which you wfill be pene¬ 
trated. One of the greatest proofs you can 
give of filial respect is to take their advice, 
and to follow their example. A respectful 
child will never undertake any thing without 
consulting his father and his mother; this 
deference is due to them ; they are sensible 




72 


FILIAL AND 


of it, and you pain them when you neglect 
this duty. Although you may believe your¬ 
self more enlightened than they, consult 
them nevertheless ; then use your own judg¬ 
ment to discern whether their advice be 
good, or to rectify it if it is not; but at all 
times spare their feelings. Another mark 
of respect is, to imitate your father and your 
mother when they have given you good ex¬ 
ample. If you are children of Abraham, 

do the works of Abraham. 

* 

THE DOGE OF VENICE. 

Laurent Celse, having been nominated 
Doge of Venice, and seeing that his father, 
who was in the number of senators, would 
come, as the others, and kneel before him, 
placed upon his ducal cap a golden cross, 
so that his father could pay to the cross 
the tribute.of honor which was customary 
to pay to his dignity. Since then the Doges 
wear a cross upon their caps. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


73 


A LAWYER OF PARIS. 

One of the most celebrated lawyers of the 
capital, had the happiness to have his father 
until the age of ninety. Though himself a 
father of a family, he never missed, each 
morning, going to present his respects to this 
venerable old man, asking him his orders, 
and offering him his services. 

After receiving the morning greetings of 
his own children, he took them all triumph¬ 
antly to their grandfather, and asked for 
himself and for them his blessing. 

A hundred times, said the reporter of 
these facts, we have been witness of this 
scene ! A hundred times have we seen, fall¬ 
ing from the eyes of-this venerable patriarch, 
the tears that his happiness caused him to 
shed ! Such are the fruits of a good educa¬ 
tion, which are perpetuated from generation 
to generation, and make the happiness of 
families. 

7 


74 


FILIAL AND 


LEMIERRE. 

A bon is less indebted to bimself for his 
merit than to those who have given him 
birth and education. Moreover he increases 
the glory which may surround him, by re¬ 
flecting it on the authors of his birth, where¬ 
as he tarnishes its lustre by grudging them 
any participation therein. 

Here is what the wise man assures us : 
“ Do not,” said he, “ forget your father and 
your mother when you are in the midst of 
the great, lest God forget you even before 
the great.” Such were the sentiments of 
the famous Lemierre. This learned man, 
who was admitted to the academy without 
other recommendation than his own merit, 
was none the less estimable for his disposition 
and for the simplicity of his manners ; but 
that which renders him most particularly 
worthy of praise, was his behavior towards 
his mother. Hot being rich, this good woman 
- curtailed her expenses, to afford her* son a 
liberal education ; ,and he being endowed 
with a good nature, showed himself sensible 
to this tenderness, which, indeed, is not rare 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


75 


, now-a-days, but which is little reciprocated. 
When but a child, he evinced the deepest 
gratitude for his mother—by his respect and 
by all his efforts to be agreeable to her. 
When at an age to make use of his talents, 
he deprived himself, for his mother, of the 
enjoyments and the pleasures, which young 
men are so inclined to procure themselves, 
or rather, his pleasures and his sweetest en¬ 
joyments were those of his mother. 

Madame Lemierre lived at Yilliers-le-Bel, 
a distance of 16 kilometres from Paris, and 
her son was the secretary of a fanner-gene¬ 
ral, who left him leisure hours to devote to 
literature; every month, this excellent son 
hastened to give his mother the fruits of his 
literary productions. lie went on foot, even 
in the coldest weather; he feared, by taking 
a carriage, to lessen the little sum he des¬ 
tined for her. The days on which he made 
these journeys were veritable holidays for 
him : a week beforehand, his heart would 
be elated with the purest joy ; nor did he 
forget any thing that might add to the com¬ 
pletion of this holiday. The family, in 
which he was employed, furnished him with 


9 


76 


FILIAL AND 


board and lodging, thence lie was enabled 
somewhat to procure little delicacies for his 
mother. On the point of going to Villiers- 
le-Bel, Lemierre begged of the cook to pre¬ 
pare him a chicken and some pastries. 

u My poor mother,” he would say, u is not 
spoiled by tit-bits. I wish her, at least, to 
share a good dinner with me.” All being 
ready, this good son sallied forth at break of 
day. What a touching picture ! A distin¬ 
guished poet, leaning on a thorn-stick, and 
carrying*a basket full of provisions to his 
mother. He forgets the muses, academical 
glory, and thinks alone of his mother, and 
of the pleasure he will have to see her—to 
tell his little troubles, his joys—and to take 
part in hers. This day, spent with his moth¬ 
er, was sweeter to the sensitive heart of this 
unassuming man, than all the eulogiums 
which could be drawn down upon him by 
his poetical works. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


CHAPTEE II. 

WANT OF RESPECT TOWARDS PARENTS. 

“He who afflicts his father,” says the 
- Holy Ghost, “ covers himself with shame, 
and with ignominy.” (Prov., ix., 26.) “ He 

who grieves his mother shall have the curse 
of God.” (Eccl., iii., 18.) And^ indeed, what 
crime would he not commit who behaves 
so contrary to justice, and to every divine 
law ! And how many are there of those un¬ 
happy beings, who, without shame, and per¬ 
haps without remorse, despise their parents, 
rail at them, prosecute them bylaw, and send 
them into untimely graves. 

Let us enter into a few details on this sub¬ 
ject, in order to inspire a horror of such 
behavior: 

1. Contempt .—To despise one’s parents, to 
look upon them with scorn, to treat them as 
useless members of the family, under pretext 
of old age, and to speak ill of them, to wish 
them dead. What an abominable crime! 

1 * 


78 


FILIAL AND 


Rash and self-conceited children, you do 
not know how you grieve your parents! 
You rely on your own wisdom, and you dis¬ 
dain the good advice of those who have 
given you birth ; you merit that your pre¬ 
sumption be punished by misfortune. There 
are children who have prospered in the world 
who really blush to own their poor parents! 
Proud children, you puff yourselves up with 
your sudden good luck! What! has the 
metal which you have gained, perhaps un¬ 
justly, raised you above a virtuous father ? 
Has gold changed your nature? Have you 
forgotten that this father and this mother 
are your own flesh ? In truth, you are very 
little when you are raised so high ! What 
a crime against religion and against nature ! 
To deny your own flesh and blood. 

2. Raillery .—That is to say, words, man¬ 
ners, smiles, sarcastic and insulting looks; 
how many, on this head, sin against their 
parents! Listen, insolent children, to the 
imprecations which are pronounced against 
you by the Holy Scriptures; let the eve that 
laugheth at his father or his mother be 
plucked oyt; let it be devoured by the birds 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


79 


of prey that hover around dead bodies and 
floods. Cham having dared to cast an in¬ 
decent look on Noah, his father, and calling 
his brothers to show his raillery thereon, was 
immediately cursed in his race by the voice 
of a father so justly incensed. Canaan, with 
all its descendants, became the object of the 
vengeance of Heaven and earth. 

3. Reproaches .—What more can it be, 
if to marks of contempt we must add re¬ 
proaches, insults, imprecations; if children 
call their parents old fools, imbeciles, as in¬ 
deed it often happens, if they contradict 
them without discretion, if they curse them ? 
Let them die, said our Sovereign Master; 
the child who dares to pronounce one word 
of malediction against his father or his 
mother. The same anathemas must neces¬ 
sarily fall on children who slander, who 
spread around the dishonor of their family 
by publishing the faults of their parents. 
Senseless youths! The opprobrium which 
you so inconsiderately divulge, falls alone 
upon you. Would it not be more prudent to 
be silent, and to cover the ignominy of your 
father with the cloak of filial charity ? 


FILIAL AND 


.80 

4. Lawsuits .—Wliat confusion, wliat shame 
for children, who drag their parents before 
courts of justice, who make the public halls 
re-echo their disgrace! With disgust does 
justice incline her. ear to such inhuman con¬ 
tentions, and ‘does she lend her aid to the 
hard-heartedness of a father or a son who 
transgresses the sacred laws of nature. She 
hates thdse civil wars which she is compelled 
to pacify. The w r ise Pittacus said to a young 
man who was prosecuting his father : 44 If you 
are in the wrong, you will be found guilty ; if 
you are in the right, you deserve to be found 
guilty.” What a dreadful barbarity to make 
criminal revelations of your parents, and that 
you should become, as it were, the execution¬ 
ers of those who have given you life ! 

5. In a word, my children, you err in 
your duty of respect to your parents when 
you grieve them by disorderly and dissolute 
habits; nothing can give them more pain. 
“•Be careful,” said the wise man, “ not to 
grieve your father by being the cause of his 
unhappiness.” The child who gives sorrow 
and sadness to his mother becomes the object 
of the curse of God ; he covers himself with 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


81 


ignominy, he precipitates himself into an 
abyss of misfortune. Disrespectful children, 
you plunge a dagger into the breast that has 
nursed you—hasten to the tomb the white 
locks of your parents. In this matter no 
faults can be considered small; they are all 
grievous and criminal, and merit the ven¬ 
geance of Heaven and earth. Therefore, it 
is necessary to explain in confession, every 
thing that might increase the grievousness 
of this sin; the motives, the circumstances, 
the sad impression that it has made on your 
parents; the scandal which it has given 
your brothers and sisters, and the derision 
and the disobedience it may have provoked 
in your servants. 

A WIDOW AND HER TWO SONS. 

A lady of quality, whose name was Alex¬ 
andrine. had two sons. The elder was only 
ten years old when already he made use of 
words which are never uttered by well-in¬ 
clined youths. His mother having heard 
him, said: “ What! my son, you speak such 
words in my presence? Have you learned 
them from me? And though such words 


FILIAL AND 


' 82 

were to fall from my lips, should you allow 
yourself to repeat them ? This language is 
alone fit for libertines and wickedly disposed 
youths, for children who have neither edu¬ 
cation nor honor.” The child profited by 
this remonstrance, and no longer made use 
of this language. in his mother’s presence ; 
but he continued to do so with his com¬ 
panions. Fortunately, the mother was ap¬ 
prised of it, and she again said : “ My son, 
you no longer speak bad words before me, 
but you do so in the company of others; 
you scandalize them. Can it be, my s^n, 
that you do not fear God ; are you not aware 
that he hears you and sees you everywhere ? 
that nothing can be hidden from him ? You 
dare not speak evil in my presence, and you 
dare before God! You must know that 
he is infinitely more to be feared than your 
mother: he is your Creator, your Master, 
your Judge. Reform, my son ; change your 
conduct, for I would prefer seeing you dead 
at my feet than to see you persevere in those 
pernicious habits. Furthermore, I forbid 
you henceforth to frequent the companions 
who have taught you such language. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


83 . 

The advice of this good and tender mother 
made an impression on the mind of her son ; 
he amended, and hence lived happily in the 
fear of God. 

The second son did not show the same 
submission. ‘ Many times had his mother 
reproved him for his conduct, but he scorned 
her advice, and despite her entreaties he 
continued to associate witli young libertines 
who corrupted his heart; they spoke to him 
but of pleasures and enjoyments and thus in¬ 
spired him with disgust for occupation, aver¬ 
sion for study, and contempt for his mother. 
Soon this unhappy young man forgot all 
thoughts of virtue, and gave himself up en¬ 
tirely to evil inclinations and vice. Then 
his mother cautioned him, begged of him, 
with flowing tears, to change his course of 
life, but it was in vain. He married, and not¬ 
withstanding his mother’s forewarning, he 
chose a person totally unfit for him. He 
went so far as to prosecute his mother for 
the property which his father had left; his 
enjoyment thereof was of short duration. 
One day, having been out riding with his 
wife, he fell from his carriage and was 


84 


FILIAL AND 


crushed beneath the wheels. This sad news 
was brought to his mother, who exclaimed, 
as she hastened thither: “ O my God! 
This is a punishment for my son’s disobe¬ 
dience, and for the sorrows which he has 
caused. I implore the Lord that he may 
have time to repent.” Alas ! no sooner had 
she arrived than he expired in her arms: he 
had not had the time to make a confession, 
nor to receive the last sacraments. 

OTHER EXAMPLES—UNFORTUNATE CHILDREN. 

The most criminal, and likely the most 
unfortunate of fathers, had a son who was in 
ever-y way as bad as himself. One and the 
other led a most disorderly life, and plunged 
themselves into all sorts of misfortunes, 
which are the natural consequences of mis¬ 
conduct and crime. The son, who was dis¬ 
obedient as he was indocile, would* become 
irritated and violent, even furious, when he 
met with the slightest contradiction. One 
day his father, who was now aged, wished to 
check him and reproach him for his bad 
behavior ; in a fit of passion, this inhuman 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


85 


son rushed upon his father, knocked him 
down, and dragged him by the hair to put 
him out of the house. When he had ar¬ 
rived at a certain spot, the father raised 
his voice and cried : “ Stop, wretched boy : I 
did not drag my father beyond this spot 
when I was at your age.” This guilty father 
acknowledged therein the vengeance of God, 
who permitted that his son should treat him 
as formerly he had also treated his father. 
This is, in truth, what often happens ; should 
it not induce all young men to respect their 
parents, as they would wish, later, their own 
children to respect them. 

A MOTHER’S CURSE. 

Ten children of good family, seven of 
which were boys and three girls, lived at 
Cesarea, in Cappadocia, their native place, 
with their mother, who was a widow. It 
happened that the eldest of the brothers 
overwhelmed his mother with the most 
abusive language, and so far forgot himself 
as to dare to lift his hand against her and 
strike her. All the children who were pre¬ 
sent allowed their brother to treat her in 
8 




86 


FILIAL AND 


this manner, instead of reproving him, and 
preventing it from taking place. Indignant at 
such treatment, this mother went one morn¬ 
ing early to the baptismal basin, and there 
prostrating herself on the ground, she prayed 
to God that her children might be a terrible 
example to the whole world, and that they 
might wander around far from their own 
country. The prayers of this unhappy 
mother were immediately heard, and God 
punished her children by inflicting on them 
a great tremor in all their limbs : so much 
so, that, being ashamed to appear in public 
in this terrible state, they each wandered in 
different parts of the Roman Empire. Two 
of those children, says Saint^ Augustine, 
came to Hippone, where we were stopping: 
one of them was named Paul, and the other, 
his sister, was Pallade. They came to this 
city two weeks before Easter, and they went 
every day to church, where they prayed be¬ 
fore the altar of Saint Stephen, so as, if it 
pleased God to be merciful to them, to re¬ 
establish them in their former state of health. 
On Easter Day, the people were assembled in 
crowds in the church, the young man was 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


87 


praying, when, all at once, lie dropped down 
as if asleep, without trembling, however, as 
before, even in his sleep. ' Every one took 
notice of him. But the surprise of all present 
was still greater when the afflicted young man 
stood up without trembling, for he was 
cured. At the.sight of thi3 miracle, the 
crowds made the clnirch resound with praise 
and thanks to God. “ This young man 
dined with us,” says St. Augustine, u and re¬ 
lated the history of his life, and how God 
had punished him with his brothers and 
sisters for having disrespected their mother.” 
u On Easter Tuesday,” continues the holy 
doctor, “ I placed them in the gallery, in 
order that every one should see them while 
the history of their life was read. All those 
present witnessed how the brother was 
standing erect without trembling, and how 
the sister trembled in all her limbs. But 
when she prayed before the altar of St. 
Stephen, the first martyr, like her brother, 
she fell into a kind of sleep, and rose and 
was cured. Thereupon shouts of joy and 
admiration resounded anew throughout the 
church, the sister was replaced in the gallery, 


88 


FILIAL AND 


and all praised God, that he had restored 
them to health.” 

“Let us, children,” continues the Saint, 

“ learn by this example to respect and honor 
our fathers and mothers, and let fathers and 
mothers apprehend getting into a passion, 
because it is written: ‘A ■ father’s blessing 
strengthens a house of children, and the mal¬ 
ediction of a mother destroys it in its very 
foundation.’ ” 

DIALOGUE ON THE RESPECT OF CHILDREN FOR 
THEIR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 

Persons represented :—Helen, Mary, Clement, Ajdolph, 
Charles : brothers and sisters. 

Helen. —Why, brothers, were you not with 
us to-day at the catechetical instruction ? Mary 
and I are delighted with the beautiful lessons 
which were given. 

Adolph. —Sister, we have also; heard in¬ 
structions which have made deep impression 
on us, and which have left us very touching 
souvenirs. 

Mary .—I do not doubt it; it is always 
with the same zeal, the same knowledge, the 
same fervor, that these venerable men, charg- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


89 


ed with our instruction, speak to our hearts 
and to our minds ; but you will agree with 
me, that, among the subjects given, there are 
some more striking than others, and which 
affect us more deeply, more efficaciously. 

Helen .—It is just such a subject that we 
have heard explained. 

Clement .—We might regret not having 
been there, but we hope that you will let us 
hear some 1 of its most important points. 

Charles. —Then we shall have the same 
advantage as if we had been at church; noth¬ 
ing can give us,more satisfaction. 

Mary .—With all my heart; but in return 
we ask you to relate us something which shall 
equally benefit us. 

Adolph. —Agreed. 

Clement .—We would keep this engagement 
even though you had nothing to communi¬ 
cate to us. 

Helen. —Well, then! They spoke to-day' 
of the respect which children owe to their 
parents. Oh, what satisfaction I had at this 
instruction. I hardly remember to have ever 
been more affected. 

Charles .—I am not surprised at that, Hel- 
8 * 


J 


90 


FILIAL AND 


1 en, you who observe so faithfully the precept 
which commands us to honor and respect our 
parents. 

Mary .—Helen is in the right; and if our 
companions were asked, they would prob¬ 
ably answer in the same way. I saw several 
of them who shed tears . . . . and I was near 
doing so too. 

Adolph .—I shall repeat to you, Mary, 
what Charles has said to Helen ; since you are, 
as she is, a model of the virtue which this 
morning was explained to you, it is not aston¬ 
ishing, then, that you feel great satisfaction 
when you are told of its advantages and its 
charms. 

Helen .—Are you not, also, all three of the 
same feeling ? Are you not respectful chil¬ 
dren ? But we are not here to compliment 
each other on what we might be. Praise is 
out of place between brothers and sisters; it 
is a bad coin which ought to have no cur- 
^ rency amongst us; that which ’is now essen¬ 
tial is for us to instruct each other mutually, 
so as to become more and more perfect every 
day in the accomplishment of our duty 
towards our parents. 


v 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


91 


Mary .—That is it, let us come to the point 
which interests us the most; now, Helen, re¬ 
call your memory. 

Helen .—Recall my memory! Indeed, my 
memory is quite present, and were I to live 
an age (I would then be very old, very infirm, 
don’t you think -so, Clement ?) I would still he 
chattering on that point. I could repeat 
word for word the precepts and the examples 
which this morning so captivated my atten¬ 
tion. They told us that the first duty, the 
most essential duty of children, is respect, a 
deep and inviolable respect for our father 
and our mother; no time, .no circumstance, 
no possible situation can free us from the ob¬ 
ligation of this duty. The child who vio¬ 
lates this duty draws forth upon him the in¬ 
dignation of the sovereign Legislator, and 
can never escape from his just vengeance, with 
which, sooner or later, he shall be punished. 

Charles .—Excuse me, sister, if I interrupt 
you ; but I. cannot help remembering that 
the justice of God manifested itself in a ter¬ 
rible manner in the old law. God com¬ 
manded that whosoever should disobey this 
commandment of filial respect, should be 


92 


FILIAL AND 


punished with death. “ If any one,” said 
he, “ insults with abusive language his father 
or his mother, let him be punished with 
death.” 

• Clement .—And in these times Divine jus¬ 
tice manifests itself with not less severity. 
Do we not continually see disrespectful chil¬ 
dren, who grieve their parents, by words 
and answers that they would not address to 
strangers, or to the least of men ? They 
blush at their misery, at their infirmities, 
at their faults ; their blindness leads them to 
despise their parents, to defame them, and, 
even that which revolts nature, to maltreat 
them. Does it not seem that such culpable 
children are cursed everywhere they go ? 
They are the cause of their parents’ despair ; 
they are overwhelmed with public scorn; 
they are odious to every one, and not being 
able to put up with their own faults, they 
drag out an unhappy existence, and their 
end is still more wretched. 

Helen .—Such is the merited fate of 
those who do not consider their parents as 
the representatives of God. Ah ! if faith, 
if love, if the fear of punishment, were in 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


93 


their hearts; if they were truly convinced 
that their father and their mother hold the 
place of .God, and that want of respect to 
them is at the same time a want of respect 
to Him who has made them depositaries of 
his authority; if they well understood their 
temporal and spiritual good, instead of being 
the shame and the desolation of their family, 
the scandal of their neighborhood, often of 
their native city, they would amend, and 
they would soon become models of filial 
piety,—faithful observers of the respect due 
to those who are the representatives of our 
Heavenly Father. 

Mary .—The duty of respect to our pa¬ 
rents, said our venerable director, which is 
so easily fulfilled, must be the aim of all our 
thoughts, the object of our study, and of our 
daily application ; it consists in great do¬ 
cility in receiving advice, reprimands, and 
corrections, from the heads of the family; 
to speak to them with submission and rever¬ 
ence, to please them in every possible man¬ 
ner, to do nothing to displease them, to ap¬ 
prehend paining them, or giving them sor¬ 
row, on any occasion whatsoever. Is it neces- 


94 


FILIAL AND 


sary, continued he, to recommend children 
to bear with and hide their parents’ imper¬ 
fections? Their failings are often habits of 
melancholy, or of an uneven temper. But 
often, with a little reflection, you would find 
that their bad humor and melancholy had 
no other cause than solicitude for your wel¬ 
fare ; indeed, it is not at all times that the 
greatest assiduity to work and constant labor 
can suffice for the urgent wants of a family ; 
would it, then, be legitimate, would it be 
Christian-like, to murmur against those im¬ 
perfections whereof you are the occasion? 
Sometimes they are caused by old age and 
infirmities. Ah ! then it were cruel and un¬ 
just not to bear .with their failings and their 
weaknesses. In our infancy, had not our 
parents to endure our caprices, our whims, 
our naughtiness? Later in life, with what 
perseverance have they not tried to conceal 
our faults and our deficiencies, fearing that 
a bad opinion might be formed of us. To 
not imitate this example, which is the main 
foundation of peace and harmony in a fam¬ 
ily ; to become indignant at the defects of 
temper of those who have shown us so much 

$ 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 95 

patience and forbearance; is it not returning 
evil for good? Is it not being guilty of 
baseness and of wicked ingratitude ? 

Charles .—But this ingratitude would be 
far more wicked, if it had for its object not 
only the imperfections of our parents, but 
also faults, which, if they were revealed, 
might deprive them of every consideration, 
and by reason of which they would incur 
loss of public confidence, credit, occupation, 
and even total ruin of their business. Would 
this not equal parricide, a crime, so to say, 
whereby all the members of the same family 
would suffer, because, by violation of the 
precept which commands us to honor and to 
respect our parents, we are condemned and 
reproved for all that is contrary to this re¬ 
spect and this reverence. We depriv^our 
parents of the bread of life, with which also 
they now feed us. 

Clement .—Those who do not respect their 
parents are not only cursed by God, but 
men have no confidence in them ; they de¬ 
spise them, they look upon them with dis¬ 
trust, they shun their conversation and their 
society. 


96 


FILIAL AND 


Mary .—Yery true. Recently I heard a 
story related which makes me shudder when 
I think of it. An unfortunate young wo¬ 
man, who was living in one part of the city, 
came, from time to time, on business into 
the neighborhood in which her poor mother 
lived. Would you believe that she had the 
incredible courage to pass and repass before 
her mother’s door, to be witness of her mis¬ 
ery, of her loneliness, and she did not enter 
to give her one word of consolation? On 
the contrary, she haughtily turned away her 
head ! Yes, she shunned her mother, she 
abandoned her, she disowned her, as it were, 
and all the neighborhood witnessed this base 
and scandalous behavior. They speak of 
her, they pity her, they have for her but 
wor£s of malediction. 

Adolph .—Wliat must be the wrath of 
God, to behold such ingratitude ? and what 
just vengeance He must hold in wait for 
her? 

Helen .—Such accounts throw a gloom 
over our hearts and our minds ! To dissi¬ 
pate them, however, I shall trace a consol¬ 
ing picture of a family, in which respect for 


• FRATERNAL PIETY. 


97 


parents is observed in a most admirable 
manner. Our director said : “ I know this 
family intimately, and as often as my duties 
permit, I frequent it with pleasure. All I 
hear, all I see there, leaves upon my mind a 
sweet and consoling impression. Sometimes 
I fancy myself in the midst of one of the 
patriarchal homes of ancient times; the 
father and the mother are the objects of re¬ 
spect—a veneration so profound, so natural, 
so constant, that, when the children move in 
their presence, or speak to them, I think I 
hear and see Isaac, Joseph, and Benjamin, 
in the tents of Abraham or Jacob. I hear 
no complaints, no murmurs: advice, admo¬ 
nition even, which the giddiness of youth 
often necessitates, are received with angelic 
submission, with gratitude; so persuaded 
are those little children, that, when their pa* 
rents speak, God himself speaks to them. 
At the least sign, at the tirst word, they 
obey with joy—with readiness do they has¬ 
ten to perform, as an order from heaven— 
that which they have received, or even anti¬ 
cipated. Can submission, respect, and filial 
piety be manifested fn a more admirable 
9 


98 


FILIAL AND 


way? And, in return, God pours down 
upon this exemplar } 7 family his full blessings 
—his favors. There, there is but one heart 
and one soul: each one thinks, lives, and 
acts, but for the happiness of all; sorrow 
(which is inseparable from life, and which is 
experienced everywhere), being shared, loses, 
in a degree, its bitterness; and joys, on the 
contrary, become more true; gentle seren¬ 
ity shines on each one’s countenance, and 
reigns throughout. Those children grow up 
with good habits, with the love of virtue; 
they cherish their parents, they respect 
them, and they obey submissively their will, 
which they consider as God’s own. On the 
other hand, the two venerable heads of 
this family, happy with the sentiments which 
are manifested in their behalf, happy to see 
their lessons and their examples' produce 
such good fruit, bend their venerable heads 
in humble thanksgivings to Him who has 
acceded to their most ardent desires, who has- 
blessed their endeavors. Thus they advance 
in age, thus they die—in the arms of their 
children—and, when their eyes are closed in 
death, they will agaih bless and praise God 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


99 


for having made them the inheritors of their 
virtues, and the followers of what they have 
been, by their filial piety in their youth, to¬ 
wards their father and their mother. 

Clement. —Oh! how such parents deserve 
the tender love of their children, and their 
most profound sentiments of veneration. * 

Charles. —Add, that such children are, . 
also, worthy of the affection of which they 
are the objects. 

Adolph .—It were needless to envy the 
children of whom Helen has spoken. Like 
them, we find in our father and in our 
mother, perfect models of every virtue, 
hearts that love us tenderly, and a thousand 
reasons whereby we may love them in re¬ 
turn. 

Charles. —Thus, we shall accomplish the 
first and most important of our duties. 

Clement .—And by this means we shall be 
worthy of the blessing of Heaven and earth. 


100 


FILIAL AND 


BEARING WITH THE FAULTS OF OUR PARENTS. 
CHAPTER I. 

9 A child should bear with and excuse the 
faults of his parents. 

A well-bred child endures without com¬ 
plaint, and without murmur, the faults, the 
infirmities, and the ill-humor which he may 
have noticed in his parents, remembering 
that how great soever his patience be, it can 
never equal that which they have had for 
him in the helplessness of his childhood, and 
yet more, in the unreasonableness and in the 
wanderings of his youth. 

And indeed, no sooner had we seen the 
light than those good parents received 
us in their arms, and thenceforward they 
have lived for us alone. What care, what 
painful duties they have performed, to what 
privations they have been exposed ! In our 
complaints, in our sufferings, their tender 
compassion has relieved our pain, their kiss¬ 
es, their smiles, their caresses have made 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


101 


us forget them. With what eagerness have 
they run to wipe away our tears, and to hush 
our little lamentations. What vigilance to 
preserve us from mishaps ! During the day, 
during the night, they have always been at 
our side ; they have never deserted us; all 
their moments have been consecrated to the 
care of our childhood; instructing^ us and 
directing us. As we have advanced in 
years, they have developed our minds, they 
have formed and cultivated our intellect, 
bringing it gradually to the knowledge of a 
Creator in whom we must place our fondest 
hopes for true felicity, so as to merit a life 
everlasting which is infinitely more precious 
than that which we hold from them, and 
which is.but of short duration. 

After so much solicitude for our childhood, 
for the development of our intelligence, for 
the acquisition of true knowledge, is it not 
just that we should bear with their faults, 
their infirmities; that we should compassion¬ 
ate their weaknesses and their troubles of 
mind ? A good son will extirpate from his 
heart*every sentiment of contempt for % his 
parents; he will be blind to their faults and 
9 * 


102 


FILIAL AND 


lie will publicly avow their virtues; he will 
promptly execute their desires and their will; 
he will fervently pray to God for their hap¬ 
piness and their prosperity ; in a word, he 
will neglect nothing to render their life 
peaceful and agreeable. He will shun those 
unnatural children who are deaf to the voic£ 
of their parents, who contradict them, who 
murmur, and who 6peak to them with rough¬ 
ness and spite ; those insubordinate children 
who raise their voice and upbraid their 
parents in an authoritative tone; who utter 
gross and insulting language in their pres¬ 
ence; who, under pretext oi faults, scoff at 
their advice, at their forewarnings ; who give 
them names, and ridicule them. As to those 
who are guilty of hate for their parents, who 
burst out into passion and chronicle their 
errors, who, to free .themselves from their en¬ 
cumbrance, wish their death, they, indeed, 
are monsters who are unworthy of exist¬ 
ence ! 

Were your parents in the wrong, were 
they unjust, harsh, partial, you should still 
bear with them, and excuse them. It is true, 
that such parents,by an unjust conduct towards 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


103 


their children, degrade the Divinity where¬ 
of they are the figures; but even so, this fig¬ 
ure must not be less honored; for it is that 
of him who reigns above and who distributes 
his bountiful favors on men. The authority 
of parents is nevertheless holy as its source, 
the ties of blood are not broken, the being 
you owe to them is not less precious, and the 
law of God is unchanged and unchangeable. 
Error comes from man, and the honest heart 
shrinks from it. Law comes from God, and 
he honors it. 

Still again, it may happen that our good 
parents, as they advance in age, may de¬ 
cline in mind as in body; but let us recollect 
our infancy, .our helplessness, let us do for 
them what they have done for us. “ Chil¬ 
dren, pity the misery which accompanies the 
old age of your parents, and beware to give 
them sorrrow for the little time they have to 
remain on earth.” (Eccl. iii, 15.) 

ABIBE. 

John Roscus, an author of the 7th cen¬ 
tury, relates that a worldly man who lived 
in Egypt, had several children, whom he had 


104 


FILIAL AND 


brought up badly, and to whom he did not 
give good example. The eldest, however, 
had not been influenced by his father’s man¬ 
ner of living. lie was good and virtuous, 
and so faithful in all his duties that his 
brothers conceived a hatred for him. But 
above all, his father maltreated him by 
words and actions, and reproached him for his 
gentleness, his sobriety, and his other vir¬ 
tues; so true is it that he who is overcome 
by passion knows not what he does nor what 
he says. 

Abibe bore all patiently, and answered 
their ill treatment but with renewed kindness 
to his brothers and to his father. When, his 
father was on the point of death, some 
one, who had great affection for Abibe, 
begged of his father to pardon him and to 
not disinherit him. The dying man did not 
answer, but he called his soil to his bed-side. 
At first every one anticipated that a painful 
scene was about to take place, but what was 
their surprise when they heard him say, in a 
kind and gentle voice: u My dear son, Abibe, 
pardon me the ill-treatment you have so long 
undergone at my hands. I now see that I 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


105 


was in the wrong; pray God that I may be 
pardoned for my sins; yon were performing 
your duty and I was not performing mine.’' 

Then he turned to his other children and 
said to them: “ Children, I am going to die, 
but here is your father ; I leave him the mas¬ 
ter of all I possess. Howsoever he may act, 
will assuredly be right.” 

He died—and his son soon after followed* 
him, to receive the crown which w T as pre¬ 
pared for him in heaven. 

OTHER EXAMPLES. 

JOAKIM. 

A good young man, named Joakim, was 
born of poor parents, who were not virtuous, 
and who gave him bad example. Provi¬ 
dence did not abandon him, and it hap¬ 
pened that fie fell into the hands of a worthy 
clergyman, who taught him the love and the 
respect which he owed to his parents; in 
spite of their ill treatment towards him. 
When he was fifteen years old, his father 
sent him out to service because he could no 
longer support him, and Providence again 


106 


FILIAL AND 


came to his aid, by placing him in the family 
of a rich and charitable burgess. Never was 
a servant more attached to his master, a 
child more affectionate to his parents. All 
his earnings went to benefit his father and 
his mother. His sisters being married and 
his parents remaining alone, they wished 
him to return to them. He did not hesitate 
for an instant, and he hastened to leave his 
good master to obey their will. The master 
prevailed upon him to remain, and promised 
him higher wages. “ I would rather obey 
my parents,” said he, “ than to have the 
highest wages you could give me. I can do 
without the latter, but my parents cannot do 
without me. “Be of good cheer,” replied his 
master, “ I shall take care of them; however, 
they are not worthy of your services, since 
they treat you so cruelly.” “ Never mind,” 
answered the young man; “ if they do not 
merit my services, God does; besides, I can¬ 
not desert them in their old age. Howso¬ 
ever bad they may have been for me, they 
are still my parents, and I am their son. I 
feel what God and nature require of me.” 
‘ Go, my child,” said his master, “ God will 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


107 


bless you for your obedience to them.” It 
would be impossible to relate all the hard¬ 
ships he had to endure to support his parents, 
but he suffered patiently. At length the 
Lord requited such constancy, such courage¬ 
ous patience. After the death of his parents 
he married a girl who had a little portion, 
and he lived happily with her. At the point 
of death, he assembled his children and said : 
u My dear children, the greatest consolation 
I have ever had, and which I have at present, 
is the obedience which I have always shown 
to my parents. To this obedience I owe my 
fortune, and I trust that in view of the care 
I had for my parents then, God will be mer¬ 
ciful to me. I recommend that you, like¬ 
wise, have the same love, submission, and re¬ 
spect for your mother. If you follow my 
last advice, God will never abandon you.” 

He died soon after, full of merit and con¬ 
solation. 


ANTHONY. 

A youno man, named Anthony, had a 
father and a mother who were irreligious. 
At the same time, they were unkind, even 


108 


FILIAL AND 


cruel towards him for his attention to his reli¬ 
gious duties. This poor youth, who had been 
brought up in a religious institution, where he 
had learned to know the sweet consolations 
which religion affords us, was continually the 
object of the ill treatment of his parents. 
That which was most hurting to his feelings, 
was to hear them blaspheming God, religion, 
and her practices. To avoid exciting their 
anger, he took every possible'care to accom¬ 
plish secretly his pious duties. However, 
it was impossible for him to dissimulate his 
faith, and this provoked their exasperation. 
Far from murmuring against this abuse, he 
was silent, he communicated his troubles to 
no one, not even to his most intimate friends ; 
but he prayed and recommended them 
earnestly to St. Joseph, for their conversion. 
One morning, this unhappy couple saw their 
son, who had returned from mass; they 
rushed upon him with so much fury that the 
poor child thought his last hour had come. 
The pious young man,.^recollecting what St. 
Theresa says of the power of St. Joseph, ad¬ 
dressed so fervent and so sincere a prayer to 
this saint, that he had full confidence it 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


109 


would be heard. Then turning to his 
parents, he said those touching words; 
“ My dear father, and my dear mother, you 
can abuse me, but you can never make me 
deny God or the holy duties of religion, be¬ 
cause I wish to save my soul! Do not be¬ 
lieve, though, that your ill treatment afflicts’ 
me the most. Oh ! no, I would suffer death 
sooner than utter one single word of com¬ 
plaint against you. Oh! no, I repeat, it 
is not your bad treatment that afflicts 
me, but that which tortures me is to see you 
damning your souls. Oh ! if you knew how 
cruel this thought is to me—my parents will 
be damned if the} 7 do not repent J I hope, 
Oh! yes, I hope I shall go to heaven, and 
for an eternity my parents shall be in hell!” 
Feeling then as one inspired he exclaimed : 
“No, O great St. Joseph, it cannot be! 
through your intercession the} 7 will be con¬ 
verted.” On hearing these words, the mother 
seemed as if miraculously struck, and ex¬ 
claimed : “No, my child, I shall not be con¬ 
verted, for I am so already!” “And I also,” 
added the father, “ we have given you life, 
and you, dear child, have given us that of the 
10 


♦, 


V 


110 


FILIAL AND 


soul. Take us to your confessor; hencefor¬ 
ward we shall lead a new life.” And they 
embraced their son. There was indeed a 
total change, and they persevered in the 
resolution they had made. 

It is to be hoped that Anthony shared the 
joys of heaven with his father and his mother, 
because, sinOe that memorable day, they not 
only lived as good Christians, but as true 
penitents. 

A GOOD FIRST COMMUNION. 

The sen of honest working people, (as 
honest as can be those who have no religion), 
had just received his first communion with 
admirable fervor. On the following Sun¬ 
day, the child rose early,, put on his best 
clothes, and was on the point of going out. 
“ How, now, where are you going ?” said his 
father. 

“ To mass,” replied the child; “ Remem¬ 
ber to keep holy the Sabbath day. You know 
the commandment. After the grace I have 
received, could I show myself unworthy 
thereof?” 

“ Bah 1 what nonsense! work and amuse 


1 

FRATERNAL PIETY. 


Ill 


yourself—that’s the way; and let priests alone 
chant their or emus. Believe me, God has 
never made this pretended law.” 

“But,” replied the lad, whilst a deep crim¬ 
son suffused his cheeks, “ should this other 
commandment be nonsense? Honor thy 
father and thy mother .” 

Which of them was now disconcerted? 
It was the father who'withdrew in silence, 
admiring the while the presence of mind and 
the good sense of his son. A week after¬ 
wards the young communicant was not 
alone at mass, for his father and his mother 
accompanied him thither, and since then 
they became good Christians and truly honest 
people. 

DIALOGUE 

ON 

HOW WE SHOULD BEAR WITH THE FAULTS OF 
OUR PARENTS. 

Persons represented .— Helen, Alpuon- 
sine, Emile, Henry, Albert : brothers 
and sisters. 

Helen .—Whence do you come, dear AI- 
phonsine ? What has become of you since 


f 

112 FILIAL AND 

morning ? I tliink I can guess, and if you 
are inclined to be frank, you will confess 
that I am right: however, I would wish to 
be mistaken, were I to lose the rosiest apple 
or the mellowest pear! I am sure you 
have left some corner of the cellar or 
granary where you have hidden your¬ 
self as a timid little recluse brooding over 
your troubles and murmuring against the 
bitterness of your fate. Oh ! I dare not con¬ 
tinue ; it is painful. Meanwhile, do not sup¬ 
pose jthat I wish to annoy you, or that I do 
not love you, I should be grieved if you 
doubted my sisterly affection. 

Alphonsine .—I do not doubt it; you, at 
least, are good. 

Helen (surprised and pained).—What! 
I am good! 

Emile .—I share, Helen’s surprise and sad¬ 
ness, on hearing these words. 

Henry .—And I too ; is there any one here 
who is not kind to us, who does not love us ? 

Alphonsine.— I do not say that no one 
loves me, but there are times when they do 
not prove it to me; and then again, I feel so 
sad that I would give my life for a pin. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


113 


Albert. —Very good, Alphonsine, we see 
you do not play high game. 

Helen. —But what is the cause of your 
sadness ? 

Albert. —So great is it that you would 
give your life for a—(showing his breast-pin). 
Ah! indeed, this is a joke ! 

Helen. —Yes ! Why should you have the 
blues ? Do my brothers, do I fret and fume 
at you ? 

Alphonsine. —Oh! yes, you can talk at 
your ease ; you have no need to complain ; 
you can’t feel unhappy! As a matter of 
course, my father and mother always find 
well whatever you do ; they never chide you. 

Emile. —Oh ! this is wrong. I don’t believe 
father or mother have any preference what¬ 
soever. 

Henry. —Assuredly, they treat us all 
equally. 

* Alphonsine. —Well, how yould you like 

to be forever scolded ? If you are bid to do 
any thing, it is with ill humor, with re¬ 
proaches. I cannot understand such per¬ 
versity ; it is like a chronic disease. 

Hplen. —If it were a disease, we should 
10* 




114 


FILIAL AND 


only be more bound to suffer patiently, and 
in a spirit of religion bear with the defects 
of disposition of our parents. 

Henry .—Undoubtedly so. It is a religious 
duty which nature imposes on us. 

Albert .—And above all, it is one of God’s 
most formal commandments. 

Emile -.—A respectful child should bend 
with submission and gratitude to the will of 
his parents, and the ardent love which he 
bears them should, very naturally, close his 
eyes to their faults. 

Helen .—Hear me, Alphonsine, I shall 
speak to you frankly; if you were a little 
older and that I should hear you speak in 
those terms, I should have a bad opinion of 
you, and I would say you were bad tempered. 
But it is merely the giddiness of your youth 
and not defects of your heart; you are good- 
natured and I know you better than you„ 
know yourself. You have fits and fancies 
which will pass away. 

Henry .—The sooner the better. 

Albert .—Why not to-day? How? It 
would be all the better for Alphonsine. 

Emile .—It depends upon her own will. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


115 


I ask but one tiling; it is, that she listen with 
advantage to the advice of our good sister. 

Henry :-—We owe her this deference. 

Albert .—She is the eldest and she has 
more experience than we have. 

Emile .—She also knows more than we do. 
She reaps benefit by what she hears and 
reads. 

Henry. —And, better still, she is a good 
and kind sister, and we would be to blame, 
if we were not to have consideration for her. 

Helen .—Have done with your praise. 
Really, you would cover me with confusion, 
if I did not consider you as little children 
who wish to give expression to the lo\ T e they 
have for their sister. Well, since you have 
confidence in me, I shall say what I think. 
First, I shall tell you of the obligation which 
children have to bear with their parents’ 
faults. Besides, agree with me there is no 
one perfect. 

Henry .—We learned that at school. 

Albert. —Yes, that every one has his 
faults, and often many: odd humor, whimsi¬ 
cal disposition, etc. 

Emile .—And they said that it was an obli- 


116 


FILIAL AND 


gation to bear witlTeach other, despite faults 
and imperfections; otherwise, life would be 
insupportable, society would present a pell- 
mell of bluntness, chicanery, altercations, 
continued retaliation. 

Helen .—That is right. But if, as members 
of society, we are obliged to put up with 
the faults of our neighbors, if God command 
it expressly, how much more obligatory 
must it be to bear with our parents’ faults! 
Thus, a child who murmurs against them, 
either for natural defects of temper or for 
those caused by old age or' sickness, that 
child is unworthy of God’s goodness and his 
grace. 

, Henry.— Indeed, nothing is more odious 
than such ingratitude. 

Emile .—The more so as those faults, which 
at first, have been imperceptible,'have increas¬ 
ed with preoccupation of mind and anxiety, 
caused by the misconduct of children. 

Albert .'-—Then it would be more than in¬ 
gratitude, it would be a revolting injustice, 
if they would not bear with those faults of 
which they are the cause. 

Henry .—I cannot feel but pained when I 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


117 


think that there are chiMren who are so un¬ 
natural, as to become irritated at failings 
which are caused by an overtask of work, 
or old age, sometimes hastened by fatigues 
and privations. Old age .is like infancy 
(we were told last week at catechism), it re¬ 
quires indulgence. 

Albert.— Well, that is a true saying. 

Emile .—I could wish this sentence (for I 
call it a sentence) were deeply graven in .the 
hearts of all children. 

He7iry .—It would be a counsellor, to re¬ 
mind us of our duty throughout our whole life. 

‘ Albert .—Our father and our mother have 
endured our caprices, our turns of humor, 
our faults; and then, when old age has 
brought them in view of the tomb, they be¬ 
come again, as it were, children, and we will 
not do for them—and they have done for 
us, so admirably, so patiently; how un¬ 
grateful ! 

Emile .—How ungrateful soever it may be, 
there are too many examples of this kind in 
the world. I have not witnessed it; but the 
complaints we hear, in spite of us, do not 
allow us to doubt a moment their certainty. 


118 


FILIAL AND 


Albert. —Well, it is a great misfortune 1 
Thc^e children draw forth upon themselves 
the malediction of God ; sooner or later they 
will suffer its consequences—sooner or later 
they will experience its effects. 

Henry .—They told us at instruction it is 
God who menaces them, and that if those 
unhappy children knew their own interest 
in this world, and particularly if they wished 
to save their souls, they would return to 
better sentiments; they would honor and 
obey their parents ; love them, respect them, 
and put up with their faults. Those faults 
must not be noticed; they must not exist, 
as it were, for them. And thus, let children 
evince for their father and their mother—. 
despite sickness, infirmities and old age— 
feelings which characterize a good and brave 
heart, the heart of a Christian. 

Albert. —Well, let us be of the.number of 
those children, not for the time being, for 
you will all agree with me that we lfave no 
subject of complaint against our parents ; 
they are good and kind to us, they give us 
example susceptible of forming our hearts 
and of making us honest men ; but, like all 


FEATEKNAL PIETY. 


119 


creatures of God, they are exposed to all the 
vicissitudes of this life ; if infirmities, if old 
age, if an accident or even an illness changed 
them, modified their temper and soured 
their disposition, I affirm (you would not 
have" me swear, because you all feel as I do) 
that I would he towards them as I am 
now. 

Ilenry .—None of us can allow this op¬ 
portunity to escape, and we are ready to ac¬ 
complish Albert’s wish. We have all of us, 
hearts to prove that we are grateful for the 
care our parents now give us, and which 
t]iey have also manifested to us in our 
infancy. 

Helen .—Very well, indeed, very well. 

* You prompt me to give you a bit of advice, 
since you say I am. capable of so doing ; but 
you have talked all three so much, that I 
have not had a chance to put in a word. 
I’m sure Alphonsine is of my opinion. 

Alphonsine .—I don’t complain. What 
should I say ? My business is to listen, and 
that is what I have done. 

Helen. —Well! 

Alphonsine. —Well, that is clear enough ! 


120 


FILIAL AND 


Albert .—As clear as water from the rocks : 
you comprehend ? 

Henry .—As clear as a magic lantern, 
which has not been "lighted ; we cannot see 
through it. 

Alphonsine. —Laugh, laugh, as much as 
you please ; I thank you with all my heart. 
Ah! if I had known all this before, I should 
not have been a little recluse ! 

Helen .—Did I say any thing to offend 
you ? 

Alphonsine. —]STo, indeed! I give you 
thanks for your indulgence, yes, indulgence, 
since you attribute to thoughtlessness my 
fits and fancies, and my murmurs against 
what I called faults of my parents. I now 
see that I was a poor ignorant little thing 
and henceforth, when I remark in tlieln an 
imperfection, T shall follow your example, 
and be a good girl. 

Albert. —Well! so much the better ; and 
since you would have come to this sooner or 
later, renounce the cellar and the granary, 
follow us into the garden ; we have yet time 
to play till dinner-time 

Henry. —Yes, yes. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


121 


Emile. —}0h! yes. 

Helen .—Wait a bit, my dearies ! I collar 
you all; we have not done speaking. But, 
do not be alarmed—it will not be long. 

Alphonsine .—Why not long? Go on, 
go on, we shall hear you with pleasure. 

Helen .—We must not murmur inwardly 
against our parents, although their faults be 
real; it would be very wrong to speak ill of 
them among ourselves and among others. 
You do not doubt that it would be odious if, 
to excuse ourselves of «repriinands or for 
other motives, we would reveal the faults of 
our parents. The first chastisement we 
should incur therefor would be to lose God’s 
grace; secondly, to have the contempt of all 
honest people; other ill-intentioned persons 
of dubious character would take advantage 
to harm parents who are thus discredited by 
their own children. 

Henry .—What name do such children 
merit? What comparison could we make 
to characterize them ? 

Albert .—They cannot even be compared 
to a n^an who tears down his house brick by 
brick. 


11 


122 


FILIAL AND 


Emile .—Nor to a soldier, who fires a city, 
which he and his companions have been 
charged to defend. 

Helen .—Your comparisons are just, be¬ 
cause a child must be always the defender 
of his parents, and not like a viper poison 
their reputation ; and what is more, become 
a kind of parricide, by publishing their 
faults, and exposing them so as to cause 
their ruin. How wicked to deprive them 
of every resource, and of the w^ork they had 
obtained on account of the confidence they 
inspired ! I have done. f , 

Albert. —Now, then, I once more propose: 
let us go into the garden. 

Helen .—Yes, let us go, but do not let us 
forget our resolutions. Let us love our 
parents ; let us respect them ; above all, let 
us inwardly bear with all that may be dis¬ 
pleasing to us. God will bless us ; lie will 
also bless our parents. 


FKATEIiNAL PIETY. 


123 


RESPECT DUE TO OLD AGE. 

. CHAPTER I. 

It is particularly when our parents are 
aged, that they require the aid of-their chil¬ 
dren, and then is it that the latter should re¬ 
double their zeal and their affection. Nothing 
is beneath a son when he renders his father 
a service. The most painful, the most hu¬ 
miliating services cannot demean him: on 
the contrary, they elevate him and honor 
him. 

All that has filial piety for principle is 
great and glorious. “ My son,” says the 
wise man, “ care for your ^father in his old 
age, and give him no cause of sorrow during 
his lifetime; if his mind weaken, bear with 
him and despise him not, for the charity you 
will have had for him will not be forgotten. 
God will reward you for having suffered 
patiently the faults of your mother. He 




FILIAL AND 


124* 

will give you justice and he will remember 
you in your days of tribulation.” ,(Eccl.) 
However, there are hard-hearted and un¬ 
grateful children who live a life of comfort 
and of abundance, whilst their parents are 
in poverty. Their tenderness has often 
been the cause of this misery ; they have ex¬ 
posed themselves to all kinds of privations* 
for selfish and cruel children. What a 
shame ! A father and a mother have found 
means to feed and to bring up a large family 
of children, who, in their turn, and altogether, 
cannot support those who have given them 
birth ! They reject,' they disdain thqjn ; and 
instead of being honored to have them in 
their families, they quarrel tc> avoid support¬ 
ing them. If they are obliged to provide for 
them, they insult them, they give them the 
last place at their table, and they give them 
(as those unhappy parents say) bread, tears, 
and sorrow; they even go so far as to wish 
their death. But cursed be the son who 
does not honor his father in his old a^e! 
God has promised to reward children who 
love, honor,' respect, and assist their parents, 
and He punishes, even in this world, those 


t 


FRATERNAL PIETY. §125 

who are cruel and ungrateful! It often 
happens that they have children who treat 
them badly; and in their turn, they are the 
victims of contempt, insults, and harshness 
from those to whom they have given birth. 

AN UNHAPPY FATHER. 

* One day a priest entered a house in his 
parish, and saw an old man sitting alone by 
the fire. He was crying, and his counte¬ 
nance was deeply impressed with sorrow. 
“ My friend,” said he, “ what is the matter ? 
Has any thing happened? you are in tears; 
what is it ? ” “ Ah ! sir,” answered the 

old man, “I am the most wretched of men. 
I have five children whom I have brought 
up with great trouble; and those hands, 
which you see, have worked hard to procure 
them bread. When they married, I gave 
, up all I had to better their condition; now 
that I have nothing, and that I am unable 
to work, I have to live with them ; but as I 
stay with each one in turn, they qitarrel to 
avoid receiving me in their house. They re~ 
proach me with what I eat; if I speak, they si- 
' ' lence me. Even my little grandchildren laugh 
n* 


i 


126* 


FILIAL AND 


at thfe infirmities of iny old age; and at every 
hour I wish that death would relieve me 
from such an existence. Above all, father, 
do not mention what I have confided to ■you, 
for my situation might become worse.” 
What revolting ingratitude! O impious 
and inhuman children ! how could you have 
arrived at such an extremity towards those 
who have given you birth ? 

OTHER EXAMPLES.—DURAS. 

A brave officer of the Aubusson regiment, 
whose name was Duras, was the son of a 
peasant. But he was far from being of the 
number of those who blush at the-humble 
condition of their parents. His poor father 
having come to see him, he presented him 
in his rough clothes and in his wooden shoes 
to his colonel. Louis XIV. having heard of 
the manner in which this brave and courage- 
ous soldier had recognized, respected, and 
honored his good old father, whilst they be¬ 
lieved that he belonged to the ancient 
family of Duras, called him to the court, and 
warmly shaking hands with him, said: “Du¬ 
ras, I am glad to become acquainted with 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


127 


one of the best men of my kingdom. I grant 
you a thousand crowns pension; establish 
yourself; I shall not lose sight of your chil¬ 
dren. You are deserving that they should 
resemble you.” Neither fortune, knowl¬ 
edge, nor dignities, could change him or 
raise him above his parents. He never for¬ 
got the respect which he owed them. The 
first rank is that which Nature gives us. 
Should the elevation of a son be the humilia¬ 
tion of a father ? u A son,” says the wise 
man “ is honored by the honor of his father, 
and a father without honor is a dishonor to 
his son.” (Eccles. 3.) 

MAURICE DE SULLY AND HIS MOTHER. 

One day that Maurice De Sully, founder 
of Notre-Dame, was preaching in one of the 
churchy of Paris, in the presence of a large 
crowd and before a very distinguished audi¬ 
ence, a poor woman, dresged in a coarse 
drugget tunic, and leaning on a stick, entered 
the gates of the great metropolis. This 
woman, who had made a long journey, and 
whose shoes were covered with the dust of 
the roads, inquired of some ladies where she 

r 


128 


FILIAL AND 


might find Doctor Maurice. “ What do you 
wish ?” said they. u I am his mother,” an¬ 
swered the poor old woman. Thereupon, 
the ladies to whom she had spoken, fearing 
that Maurice would be ashamed to receive 
. her, thus poorly clad, gave her a cloak and 
conducted her thither. “ I am your mother,” 
said she. “ I think not,” answered the doc¬ 
tor, “ because my mother is poor, and she 
is always dressed in a plain drugget dress.” 
The poor old woman was quite confounded, 
and thought that grandeur must have 
changed her son’s heart. But the ladies who 
had divested her of her primitive'attire led 
her back to the house and gave her her 
tunic and her stick. No sooner had Mau¬ 
rice De Sully seen her, than he respectfully 
uncovered his head and embraced her, say¬ 
ing: “ Now, indeed, I see you are my 
mother.” A short time after this occur¬ 
rence, he was appointed bishop of Paris. 

JOHN BAPTISTE ROUSSEAU. 

John Baptiste Rousseau, to whom, was 
given, on account of his talents, the name 
of Great, will be considered as one of the 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


129 


greatest geniuses of our country, so long as 
the taste for poetry lasts. He, however, 
tarnished his name by an incident, if that 
which is related of him be true. He was 
the son of a shoemaker of Paris, who lived 
in comparative comfort, and who had neglect¬ 
ed nothing to afford him a good education 
in the best colleges of the city. After 
having distinguished himself by his talents 
and his wit, he gave himself up entirely to 
the pursuit of poetry, and he soon made him¬ 
self a great reputation, and he obtained the 
protection of those of the highest rank. 

At the representation of one of his come¬ 
dies entitled The Flatterer, his father had been 
present, and w T as not one of the least affected 
at the applause showered upon his son; un¬ 
able to contain his joy, he told those around 
him, that he was the father of the, author. 
The piece being over, he sought with eager¬ 
ness the presence of his son. He stopped 
him as he issued forth from the theatre, 
and speaking to him in the most tender 
manner, he concluded by saying: “I am 
your father.” “ You my father!” exclaimed 
Rousseau, and he instantly fled from the 


130 


filial and 


\ 


spot, leaving his father in tears and over¬ 
whelmed with grief. This act of ingrati¬ 
tude, confessed even by Boindin, his friend, 
occasioned his enemies to write in the style 
of the pieces of the Pont.-Heuf this famous 
songf which caused Rousseau so much mor¬ 
tification, and which runs thus: 

Or, ecoutez, petits et grands, 

L’histoire d’un ingrat enfant; 

Mais detestez dans sa personne 
Le funeste exemple qu’il donne: 

Car il meconnut au jour de son bonheur 
Celui qui l’avait nourri de sa sueur. 

Some time afterwards, he incurred the 
disgrace of the court, by penning an epigram, 
for which he was exiled. However, having 
obtained leave to return for a time, for the 
transacting of some family matters, he was 
invited to dine with the celebrated Rollin, 
who in his turn wished to give him a lesson. 
Bollin was the son of a cutler; but, far from 
denying his birth, he prided himself on the 
same. Being acquainted with a well-known 
English poet whose father was a tailor, he 
invited him to be of the party. When they 
were at table, Rollin addressed Rousseau : 
“ Sir, you do not find my knives of modern 


FRATERNAL I’lETY. 


131 


make and style, but as tliey are invaluable 
to me (my father made them), I always use 
them on all grand occasions.” 

The Englishman then said, “ Monsieur 
Rousseau, do not be surprised if my clothes 
are not of the latest fashion; my father cut 
them and made them, and this is why I 
wear them when I visit my friends.” 

Rousseau soon withdrew, in the midst of 
his confusion. 

AN ACT OF PACHA DJEZZAR. 

They relate of Pacha Djezzar, a famous 
tyrant of Turkey, who was the terror of 
Syria by his crimes from 1775 to 1804, an 
act which proves that he was not totally 
void of sentiments of humanity. This fact, 
ludicrous though it be in appearance, affords 
withal a good lesson to an ungrateful son. 
A young Christian, for whom Djezzar 
had evinced some interest, was upon the 
point of marriage. He was lodging in a 
house whose best apartment was on the second 
floor, and which was occupied by his father, a 
venerable old man, who commanded respect 
by his age and his infirmities. 


132 


FILIAL AND 


To please his bride, the young man had 
begged of his father to let him have his 
apartment for a few weeks, promising to 
give it up soon after the marriage. The 
father consented, and descended to the ground 
floor, which was neither commodious nor 
healthy. A month after, he asked back his 
room. They begged of him to leave it a while 
longer. He consented again, but when he 
claimed it at the time specified, his son re¬ 
fused to give it up, and forgot himself so far 
as to maltreat his poor father. Every one 
was indignant at such a proceeding. Djezzar 
was apprised of it by his spies, and he sent 
for the son to appear before the divan as¬ 
sembled. “ Of what religion art thou ?” ask¬ 
ed the pacha angrily. The young man was 
silent with fear. The pacha repeated his 
question; then he answered that he was a 
Christian. u True ! well, then, make the sign 
of the Christians.” The guilty young man 
made the sign of the cross, and pronounced 
the words, “ In the name of the Father, and 
of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen.” 
And in so saying he raised his hand to his 
forehead, then to his breast, and so on. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


133 


“ Ah!” exclaimed Djezzar, in a terrible 
voice, “ the father is then first, the son 
after? Hence! wretched young man, to 
your home, and if thou dost not act accord¬ 
ingly, thy head shall soon fall to the ground.” 
It were needless to add that the young man 
hastened home to ^ask pardon of his father, 
for he was well aware that Djezzar’s threats 
were not made in vain. 


THE TWO BLANKETS. 

It is related that a man who was living in 
opulence, and having but one son, had the 
inhumanity to send his aged father to the 
hospital. A few days afterwards, he heard 
that the poor man suffered by the cold, and 
he sent him two old blankets by his son. 
The lad took one and kept the other. The 
father having noticed it, asked him why he 
had not given them both. “ Papa,” answer¬ 
ed the boy, “ I have kept one for you when 
vou will be in the hospital.” 

12 


134 


FILIAL AND 


THE EARTHEN POT. 

A knight of Tyrol, who was dissatisfied 
to see his father living so long, shut him up 
in a cell, in his back grounds; and there 
every morning he sent him his son, who was 
still a child, with a kind of porridge in an 
earthen pot. The poor old man died, and 
the knight ordered the pot to be broken, so 
that it could not recall the past. “ No, father,” 
said the child, “ let me keep it; it may be of 
use when you are old.” 

Yes, Divine Providence permits that such 
wicked and cruel children, who treat their 
parents with inhumanity, shall experience in 
their turn and in their old age the same 
trials from their own children, to whom they 
have given scandal. 

CHAPTER II. 

RESPECT DUE TO OUR GRAND-PARENTS AND 
OTHER RELATIONS. 

The honor and the respect which we owe 
to our relations, is a continuation of the re¬ 
spect a good son has for his father and for 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


135 


his mother. It is true, they have not the 
right that a father and a mother have to our 
affection, but all have a certain right to par¬ 
ticipate therein. That child who shuns those 
whom his father and his mother are obliged 
to love and to respect, is not a true disciple 
of filial piety. Nevertheless, it is not at all 
a rare occurrence to meet with unfortunate 
families in which the grand-parents, the 
uncles, and the aunts, are exposed to all sorts 
of affronts. There are .some men who long 
for their death. 

The good son regards such conduct with 
horror; he loves and he respects allhisparenst; 
he is well aware of the joy in which they 
participate at his birth, of the caresses of a 
mother, of all the care which demanded the 
weakness of his childhood. He sees his own 
parents personified in his grand-parents, 
and their long experience renders their les¬ 
sons precious to him. He even respects 
them when they have become childish by 
old age; never does lie ridicule their pain¬ 
ful position. Their infirmities do not pre¬ 
vent him from showing them all the devoted¬ 
ness of his good-nature. He listens without 


136 


FILIAL AND 


ennui to the narratives of times gone by* 
joy lights up his countenance when lie hears 
them speak of their former happy days ; and 
his heart saddens when they relate their mis* 
fortunes. 

We should not merely respect our parents 
in their old age, but also all other aged per¬ 
sons.- White hairs command respect. In 
all times, in all nations, even amongst the* 
barbarians, old people have always been 
honored, respected, and listened to, as men of 
experience, and capable of giving good ad¬ 
vice. Let us, then, honor our aged parents 
and our relations; they are our superiors by 
a&e and our masters in wisdom. It is a 
strict obligation* imposed on us by God. 
“ Ilise with respect, says he, before him 
whose hair is white with age.” (Levit. xix. 
32.) 

Who has not heard of those forty-two 
children of the city of Bethel, who, having 
dared insult the venerable Elisha, and having 
laughed at the baldness* of his head, were in¬ 
stantly devoured by a pack of famished 
bears, which rushed upon them from the 
neighboring forests ? They sinned more by 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


137 


thoughtlessness than by malice, and yet our 
Lord punished them with such severity so as 
to say to the forthcoming generation : “ Chil¬ 
dren, respect old age.” 

THE LITTLE CHINESE. 

A Chinese youth named Min-Sun had 
lost his mother when he was quite young. 
His father re-married, and had two children 
by the second marriage. 

His own mother had been good to him, 
but it was not so with his step-mother, who 
was harsh and cruel towards Min-Sun. She 
treated him with the utmost severityshe 
could not suffer him to approach her, nor 
could she speak to him a kindly word, and 
while she deprived him of the first necessa¬ 
ries of life, her own two children were 
loaded with caresses. She even maltreated 
Min-Sun, though he sought to please her in 
every possible way. One day, whilst in a 
fit of passion, this cruel mother struck him so 
violently on the ear, that he fell senseless 
to the ground. The father entered at the 
moment the boy was recovering from his 
12 * 


138 


FILIAL AND 


swoon. Moved with indignation at such-an 
outrageous proceeding, he repented of the 
weakness he had had to allow her so much 
ascendency over his son, and he was on /lie 
point of sending her forth from his home, 
when young Min-Suu threw himself at his 
father’s feet, and bending’over his knees, ex¬ 
claimed : “ O father! we are three children ; 
let me alone depart! If you send away our 
mother, we shall all three be deprived of 
her.” 

The father heard his son, and this woman, 
struck with the good sense, and still more 
with.the generosity ofMin-Sun, changed her 
conduct, and hence she shared, if not her af¬ 
fection, at least her care, between Min-Sun, 
and her two children. 

OTHER EXAMPLES, 

A child of tlie foundling-hospital in Paris, 
whose name was Peter, was sent with other 
children into a family of St. Quentin, where 
they were to be nursed at the expense of the 
hospital. When Peter was twelve years old, 
he was withdrawn from the place, but he ran 
away and came back to St. Quentin. A 


FRATERNAL FIFTY. 


139 


tavern-keeper of that city pitied his situa¬ 
tion, his misery, and his tender age, and he 
received him into his house, and taught him 
his trade, without any other view than that 
of doing a good action, and for which full 
-soon he was rewarded. One of his creditors 
demanded the payment of a sum due, and 
he resolved, for his own honor, to part with 
the silver plate of his tavern. He called his 
apprentice, and he confided to him this 
sad piece of intelligence, telling him his 
troubles, his fears,*and at the same time 
charging him to sell all his most precious 
articles. Peter begged of his master, to wait 
awhile, and that he might by some means 
or other help him out of this difficulty. 
Without farther explanation, Peter called 
upon M. de Fransure, colonel- of the royal 
corps of artillery; he took an engagement in 
the regiment of Auxonne, and received the 
price of his liberty, which he carried to his 
benefactor. “ Here, my dear master,” said 
he. “ I have desired to be in the king’s 
service ; my wishes are now fulfilled. Take 
the price of my engagement ,and pay 
your debts.” The tavern-keeper and his 


140 


FILIAL AND 


wife shed tears of gratitude, as they kissed 
the young man; they bade him keep the 
money, but his resolution was unchangeable. 
He then hastened to rejoin his regiment. 
M. de Fransure having learned from the 
tavern-keeper the generosity of Peter, related 
the occurrence to the whole company; and 
he was so pleased with him, that lie gave 
him the means of cultivating his mind, in 
order that his education might enable him 
to distinguish himself in the- military line. 


THE FAITHFUL SERVANT OF A KNIGHT OF ST. 

LOUIS. 

# 

A former Knight, of Saint Louis, being re¬ 
duced to the utmost poverty,. thought Paris 
the fittest place wherein he could conceal'his 
name, his indigence, and his misfortunes. 
His lodging was a garret, his bed a truss of 
straw, his clothes were the remnants of his 
military uniform; his society (shall I say lijs 
friend?) was an old domestic who had been 
attached to him for years. 

One day, this old soldier, with his eyes fill- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


141 


ed with tears, said to the only partner of his 
woes : “ My friend, you see my misery; until 
now you have shared it with me. But it 
must end; leave, now, the most wretched of 
men, and seek a situation, for I shall never 
be able to reward your services.” “ Ah! 
my dear master,” exclaimed the humble ser¬ 
vant, weeping and throwing Jiimself at his 
master’s feet,” “do you believe me so un¬ 
grateful as to abandon you in your adversity, 
when I shared your benefits in your former 
prosperity? No, I shall not leave you; my in¬ 
dustry, my activity, my attachment, will fur- * 
nish me means to assuage our misery.” 

The knight was moved, and embraced this 
zealous and generous servant, saying: 

“ Heaven has not, then, exhausted its full 
indignation on me! May it reward such 
noble sentiments.” This faithful servant 
had recourse to means suggested by the 
affection he had for his master. 

Each day he brought home whatever he 
had obtained from public charity; and he 
was never more satisfied than when he could 
procure a little wine for his dear master. 

“ Let us thank Providence,” would he say; 


142 


FILIAL AND 


te He has favored us to-day.” And by the 
accounts of what he had seen and heard, he 
still alleviated the miserable existence of his 
master. 

One day this virtuous man was arrested 
by the police. Ilis appearance, his vigor, 
his*strength, made him be taken for one 
of those idlers given to vice, and who are a 
scourge to the state and to society. 

They took him before the superintendent 
of the police, who questioned him ; the old 
man was not at all disconcerted, and asked 
him the favor to be heard in private, hav¬ 
ing an important secret to disclose. The 
magistrate consented to this. “I do not 
doubt,” said the poor man, “ but what 
you will grant me your protection, when I 
shall have explained the motives of my con¬ 
duct.” He then told him of all that had 
taken place between his master and himself. 
The magistrate immediately sent a commis¬ 
sary to ascertain the truth of this story. 
Effectively, he found the old officer stretched 
upon his miserable bed of straw, and he 
hastened to relate the certainty of the fact 
to the superintendent. The latter spoke of 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


143 


it to the king, who granted a pension to the 
brave old soldier, and another to the faithful 
and zealous servant. 

THE RESPECT OF SPARTANS. 

The Spartans had great respect for old 
age. Here is an example which may prompt 
us to imitate them. During the festivals 
called Panathenaea, which were celebrated 
at Athens, an old man sought a place amongst 
the Athenians; the young men laughed at 
him and sent him away with contempt. 
Then he retired to where the Spartans 
were seated. The latter, faithful to the wise 
customs of their country, immediately rose 
with modesty at his approach, and placed 
him in their midst. Meantime, the Atheni¬ 
ans, who had derided the old man, could not 
refrain from admiring the respect shown by 
the Spartans, and loud was their applause. 
Tears flowed from the old man’s eyes as he 
exclaimed : “ The Athenians know what re¬ 
spect is, but the Spartans practise it.” 


144 


FILIAL AND 


* 


CHAPTER III. 

A CHILD MUST OBEY, LOYE, AND RESPECT HIS 
MASTERS. 

Filial piety, which unites the members of 
the same family, unites equally all men to¬ 
gether. Do not suppose that this amiable 
virtue is confined to the family circle. Oh I 
no; it extends much further. Society is the 
great human family, and it has over us an 
influence similar to that of our parents. 

Our Lord has given to some men part of 
his power; he has conferred upon them, so to 
say, a paternity which makes us not only 
the children of God, but also the children of 
men, whom he has appointed to replace 
him, and to govern us. How consoling is 
this thought ! When we obey our fellow- 
beings, we do not obey man, but God, from 
whom emanates all power, all authority. 
I honor them as ministers sent from heaven, 
who transmit to us the orders of God. 
“ Serve your masters with fidelity,” says St. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


145 


Paul; “ consider them as the Lord, and not 
as men.” (Eph. ii. 7.) 

And Jesus Christ has given us an example 
of his obedience. He paid his tribute to 
Caesar. This prince was only a man, and at 
the end of time he will be judged as the 
humblest of slaves, by the Saviour of the 
world. Hone have a greater claim to our 
homage than those who instruct us in wis¬ 
dom and in science, than those virtuous men 
who sacrifice themselves for us. Their wise 
lessons enlighten our minds; they unfold to 
us the vast domain of knowledge; they serve 
us as guides, as mentors to arrive thither; 
they turn us from the path of falsehood and 
error; they teach us to love and to cherish 
truth, revealing to us all its charms, showing 
us its treasures and its delicious fruits. 
They inspire us with noble aspirations, 
they teach us the high destiny of our soul, and 
they penetrate us with a divine light in the 
contemplations of the works of the Creator; 
they disengage us imperceptibly from perish¬ 
able possessions, to attach us with delight 
to those which are eternal, to the ineffable 
felicity of heaven. They form our hearts to 

13 


146 


FILIAL AND 


all noble sentiments; they strengthen therm 
with sublime virtues, annihilating all germs 
of vice therein, dissipating their illlusions, 
regulating their inclinations, moderating their 
desires by efforts which are unceasing and in¬ 
defatigable. What a legitimate right have 
such masters to our gratitude and to our love! 

But we are much more indebted to other 
masters ; to those who are invested with the 
holy order of priesthood. It was to them 
our Lord hath said: “ Go and teach all na¬ 
tions—he who hears you hears me; he who 
despises you despises me.” The priests, are 
the fathers of Christians, the interpreters of 
Holy Writ, the doctors of faith, the distribu¬ 
tors of heavenly gifts. They communicate 
grace to our souls, they guide us through the 
obscure way of mysteries, which otherwise 
our feeble intellect could not penetrate. 
They offer to God the holy sacrifice, they 
offer him our prayers, and beg for abundant 
graces to enrich our souls. They are the 
ministers of consolation, of mercy, of peace, 
the messengers of Jesus Christ, his representa¬ 
tives on earth, angels who guide us to heaven. 
Oh, dignity of the priests of God, which far 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


147 


surpasses that of the greatest monarchal 
What a just right to our respect and to our 
veneration gives the august character where¬ 
with they are invested ! No, he is not vir¬ 
tuous, hut sacrilegious, who despises the min¬ 
ister of God. He offends God who has 
made them our parents and our masters in 
religion, and who are, as it were, his repre¬ 
sentatives on earth. 

ARISTOTLE. 

During his whole lifetime, Alexander the 
Great venerated his tutor, the illustrious 
Aristotle, and he loved him as one of his re¬ 
lations. lie often said that he was as much 
indebted to-Aristotle as to Philip his father: 
and the reason he gave was: “ That the latter 
had given him life, the former had taught 
him how to live.” In gratitude to Aris¬ 
totle, Alexander rebuilt Stagira, his native 
place, which Philip had destroyed. 

OTHER EXAMPLES.—ARSEMIUS. 

The Emperor Theodosius the Great, wish¬ 
ing to bring up his sons Ilonorius and Ar- 
cadius as Christian princes, sought a man 


148 


FILIAL AND 


of well-known science and piety for their 
preceptor. Therefore, he addressed himself 
to the Pope Damasns, who sent him a dea¬ 
con named Arsenins, who belonged to 
the Roman Church. When he came to 
Constantinople, Theodosius conferred upon 
him the title of senator, and gave him 
wealth, in order that his authority over 
his sons might be still greater; and when 
he confided him his children, he said: 
“ Henceforth you will be their father more 
th%n I am myself.” This truly Christian 
father expressed by those words the real 
value of a good education. One day the 
emperor entered the room where Arsenius 
was teaching the young princes; he perceived 
that they were both superbly dressed and occu¬ 
pying sumptuous seats, whilst Arsenius ^tood 
humbly before them as he imparted his in¬ 
structions. “ What!” exclaimed Theodosius, 
“is that the attitude that you should keep in 
the presence of your master ? Rise, my chil¬ 
dren, and let Arsenins take your place ; you, 
who are his disciples, should listen respect¬ 
fully to his lessons.” He made Arsenius 
take their elegant seats, and commanded that 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


149 


henceforward it should not be otherwise. 
Thus did one of the greatest emperors con¬ 
sider the respect which pupils owe to their 
masters. 


AN INGRATE. 

For many years a philosopher had assid¬ 
uously instructed a young man, who, in¬ 
stead of showing gratitude to his master, 
manifested for him the most bitter scorn. 
One day he even had the insolence to insult 
him, saying that he resembled an animal, 
which he named. Full of just indignation, 
the philosopher answered, “ I am not aware 
that I have any similitude with that animal, 
but I know that you are an ingrate, which 
is the most despicable, the most hateful of 
all animals. 5 '* 

With reason indeed can this be said to 
many children who are ungrateful towards 
their teachers, and who repay their solicitude 
with contempt and even gross insults. 

STANISLAS KOTSKA. 

Stanislas Kotska obeyed his superiors 
with such fidelity, that the head novice said 

13 * 


150 


FILIAL AND 


that he believed it could not be more per- 
, feet. Sometimes, in a jocular way, they 
would call him the Almighty, because he never 
found any difficulty in the accomplishment 
of his duties. Whenever he was ordered to 
do any thing, he showed by the respectful, 
* gentle maimer with which he listened, the 
satisfaction he had to obey his superiors. 
One day that he had gone to serve at the^ 
offices, with one of his fellow-members, one 
of the officers sent them both for some wood ; 
an^ as he feared they might hurt themselves, 
he marked the quantity, and bade them bring 
4t. The companion of Stanislas, prompted 
by a very excusable fervor, made the load of 
wood larger than it was ordered, and when 
it seemed to him of good size, he begged of 
Stanislas to help him up with* it on one side, 
while he would raise it on the other. But 
Stanislas smiled, and said that if he did not 
lessen the load, he could not help him with 
it. The former was so edified at this pro¬ 
found obedience, that he instantly consented 
to lessen the load .—[Les Ecoliers Vertueux .) 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


151 


THE ATHENIAN PHILOSOPHER AND II1S 
DISCIPLE. 

Your teachers have more experience and 
more knowledge than you have; you should 
then prefer to abide by their counsel, and to 
he directed by their judgment. Here is a 
striking example of pagan origin :—A phi¬ 
losopher, having learned that one of his dis¬ 
ciples had fallen into error, said to him : “ I 
shall only pardon you, when you have en¬ 
dured, during three years, the abuse of so¬ 
ciety at large.” The disciple consented to 
this, and at the expiration of three years* 
he came to obtain his pardon. “ I shall 
not pardon you yet,” said the philosopher, 
“ if during three years longer you do not 
paj r people to abuse you.” The disciple 
again consented to this, and after the time 
agreed upon, his master said to him, “ How, 
I will pardon you, and you may go to Athens 
to learn wisdom.” The young man went 
there, and on his arrival, he heard a philoso¬ 
pher, who, to test the patience of new audi¬ 
tors, insulted them as they mingled in his 
audience. But the young man laughed at 


152 


FILIAL AND 


the insults whereof he was the object. 
“ What!” said the philosopher, “ I insult you 
and you laugh !” “ Why,” replied the dis¬ 

ciple, u for three years I have paid to be in¬ 
sulted, and now I find a man who insults me 
for nothing. Can I then help giving expression 
to my gladness2” u Enter,” said the philoso¬ 
pher ; u you are qualified to be among us.” 

ALEXANDER THE GREAT. 

Above all, we should honor the priests of 
God, they who have introduced us into the 
assemblage of holy men, and have made us 
4 the brothers and the members of Jesus Christ. 
Alexander the Great had nearly conquered 
the whole world. “ The earth,” says the 
Scriptures, “ was quelled in his presence.” 
When marching against Jerusalem, the high 
priest met him robed in his pontifical orna¬ 
ments, and accompanied by his Levites, and 
followed by an immense crowd of people. 
On beholding him, the emperor dismounted 
from his horse, set aside all pride, and 
prostrated himself before the pontiff. Par- 
menio, one of the emperor’s favorites, mani¬ 
fested his surprise, and he asked the emperor 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


153 


the reason why he showed such respect. 
Alexander gave him this beautiful answer, 
which should be engraven on the heart of 
every true Christian : “ It is not lie whom I 

f 

adore, but the God whom he represents.” 
Nor was it* all; this august prince pardoned 
the Jews instead of punishing them for their 
fidelity to Darius, and on this occasion, as in 
many others, religion saved the state. Thus 
we have in the new law, St. Leo, and St. 
Loup, bishop of Troyes, who commanded the 
respect of the fierce Attila ; St. Martin that 
of the tyrant Maximus. In view of some 
favor, this venerable prelate visited the em¬ 
peror at . Treves. Maximus gave him the 
place of honor at his table, in the company 
. of the most illustrious persons of his court. 
When they were serving the wine, the offi¬ 
cer presented the cup to Maximus, who 
passed it to St. Martin to take it again from 
his hands. But this great saint gave it to the 
priest who accompanied him to the court. 
This holy courage, or rather this great faith, 
which made him distinguish the minister of 
God from the emperor, from those of the court, 
was lauded by the emperor and his courtiers. 


154 


FILIAL AND 


* 


DIALOGUE 

ON 

THE RESPECT AND THE CONSIDERATION DUE 
TO OLD AGE AND TO OUR TEACHERS. 

Persons represented. —Frances, Ursula, Lewis, John, 
Florimond. 

Frances. —Rejoice, my dears ! I have just 
seen my Uncle Simon, whom my mother sent 
me to see this morning; he is 'better, much 
better; he will soon be on foot again, and I 
hope lie will be sufficiently well in a fort¬ 
night to celebrate twelfth-night with us. 

Florimond. —Oh ! I am very glad; you 
could not bring better news. I love Uncle 
Simon, I respect him, and I think that after 
my father and my mother, I venerate him 
more than any other relation. 

John. —I agree with you. 

Lewis. —Alter our family, Uncle Simon 
occupies the first place in my heart; for him 
I could sacrifice all I possess. 

Ursula. —Such feelings are very praise¬ 
worthy, but others are deserving of the same 
consideration; we must not, then, cast them 
aside for our relations. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


155 


Lewis .—That is right; we should love and 
respect them all, and we should give them, 
according to time and to circumstances, every 
bodily and spiritual service of which *they 
may stand in need. We have a common 
origin with them : the same blood runs in 
our veins, they have the same grand-parents ; 
and if towards them our duties are not so 
great as those regarding our parents, they 
.are not less serious, nor less inviolable. 

John .—lienee our obligations are serious, 
but religion commands us to acknowledge 
others that are more sacred ; that is to say, 
that like us, our relations proceed from God, 
and like us they are the children of God. 

Florimond .— Our behavior should then 
be gentle and kind towards strangers, be¬ 
cause all men belong to God, who is their 
father. 

Frances .—Blessed and happy is he who 
acts accordingly; he gives to each one his 
due ; he is polite, affable, docile, respect¬ 
ful ; he shows good-wdll to all, and every one 
admires him, and points him out as a model 
to other children of his age. 

Ursula .—Let us try and imitate his ex- 


150 


FILIAL AND 


ample, not in view of praise, but to please 
our parents, and to be agreeable in the sight 
of God. 

Leiyis .—All is not said on this subject: 
amongst such as are strangers in our family, 
there are distinctions to be made. For ex¬ 
ample, have we not, in different degrees to 
fulfil, in behalf of our neighbors, of aged per¬ 
sons, of our teachers, obligations which ex¬ 
act all our good-will, all our consideration? 

John. —Certainly, brother, we are in duty 
bound to show, respect and cbnsideration to 
those who live in the same neighborhood, 
in the same street, in the same house, much 
more s<? than towards strangers, whom we 
may happen to see but once or rarely. 

Florimond .—The daily and inevitable 
contact with persons who live in the same 
house or under the same roof, forms an in¬ 
timacy which, though not so close as that of * 
our family, is nevertheless not void of great 
advantages, it is often remarked that the 
extent of these intimacies marks the relations 
existing between persons of the same neigh¬ 
borhood. 

Frances .—Just so: it is a true saying that 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


in 

in a neighborhood or in a house where 
there is a great number of tenants, children 
are often the source of quarrels. 

Ursula .—-Peace and concord being* most 
desirable gifts, children should, if they ap¬ 
preciate their value, contribute to the happi¬ 
ness and comfort of their parents, by being 
polite and kind to every one ; even though 
no relationship exist, they should be obliging 
and eager to please all. 

Lewis .—Such is the behavior of our lit¬ 
tle cousin Christopher in the faubourg St. 
Antoine, rue St. Bernard. They call the 
house in which he lives, “ the ark of Noah,” 
on account of its being so full of people of 
all trades and of all ages. Christopher 
has continually his cap off in respect 
to the passers-by; if he be questioned, he an¬ 
swers with civility; if they ask him a favor, 
• if they wish him to go on an errand, lie will 
say: “ With all mv heart, as soon as I get 
leave of my mother.” 

John .—I have heard say that he is so well 
known in the house and about the neighbor¬ 
hood, for his deference, his obligingness, and 
his civility, that if he is away a day or two, 
>14 


158 


FILIAL AND 


every one feels his absence, and they inquire 
after him as though he were a much older 
person. 

Lewis. — Because Christopher, young 
though he be, renders important services. 
Three weeks ago a neighbor was on the point 
of death, and having no one but a sister, 
who cared for him with so much assiduity, 
that she never went out, even on pressing 
business; but, however, every one showed 
their willingness to serve her. One day that 
all the neighbors were gone to work, she was 
lamenting before our cousin upon the impos¬ 
sibility of leaving her brother to obtain the 
last sacraments for him. “ Oh!” exclaimed 
Christopher, “ if that be all, I shall go my¬ 
self; assuredly my mother will not oppose 
me. I know where the curate lives.’’ And 
no sooner said than done. Christopher 
promptly executed the message. One of the 
priests hastened to administer to the dying 
man, who confessed himself, and received 
the last sacraments. Having expired that 
night, it is to be hoped that God was merciful 
to him. * 

Florimond .—Good Christopher! In spite 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


159 


of his tender years, what an example lie is 
for us all Y 

Lewis .—Bah ! it is not the age that makes 
one civil, obliging, respectful, and devoted, 
but submission to good advice, and a firm 
resolution to put it in practice. 

Frances .—And the fruits we reap thereof 
are an inward joy, the joy of a generous 
heart, that caused by the accomplishment of 
a good action, which affords also great satis¬ 
faction, to others. 

Ursula .—Yery true; no one could render 
a greater service than that accomplished by 
Christopher. 

Frances— It is painful to' think what 
might have happened, had my uncle’s son 
been merciless and ill-mannered; if he had 
turned nway and left the poor lady in trou¬ 
ble, saying perhaps inwardly: “She can go 
herself.” 

John .—This is very well. In imitating 
Christopher, we can always be on good terms 
with our neighbors, and thus we have their 
esteem and even their good-will, but there is 
still more to be done, as Lewis observes; 
aged persons command our respect as well as 


160 


FILIAL AND 


our parents, wlio represent God on earth. 
Their white liair, their age, their virtues, 
their experience acquired during a long ca¬ 
reer, give them a right to our respect and to 
our deference, on all occasions. The advan¬ 
tages which arise from this respect and this 
deference are so very precious, that we should 
be disposed to do every thing in our power to 
obtain them. In the first place, those advan¬ 
tages are the approbation of honest people ; 
and in the second, which is much more, the 
protection and the friendship of God, who 
commands us to honor and venerate aged 
people. Even the Pagans, though strangers 
to Christianity, were strict observers of this 
precept; and history tells us that in a cer¬ 
tain ancient city, when an aged person ap¬ 
peared in a public assembly, all the people 
arose, whilst the young men would eagerly 
offer him their place. We owe, therefore, 
to our masters and to our teachers, a profound 
respect, a sincere friendship, a constant 
docility, a deep gratitude. 

Florimond .—And who would deny them 
this homage, since they have received from 
men and from God himself the mission of 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 161 

educating children, and that after our parents 
they hold the first place for them ? 

Lewis .—How could we not consider 
worthy of respect those whose object is 
to give us good example, who watch over us 
as guardian angels, who have for us a father’s 
heart and a mother’s tenderness, and who 
every day of their lives fulfil the duties of 
the same, enduring with a Christian-like 
patience and resignation the annoyances and 
the troubles which are inseparable from 
their profession, in which they must continu¬ 
ally repeat the same words, adapting their 
instructions to minds scarcely developed ! 

Frances. —Besides, how could we fail to 
attach ourselves to those guides of our youth 
whose love for us has prompted them to conse¬ 
crate their time, their existence, and all their 
faculties, to our instruction ; whose health 
even suffers by the charge they have under¬ 
taken ? They deprive themselves of rest, of 
gratifications, and they halt only when they 
have formed several generations of children ; 
and when their strength is entirely exhaust¬ 
ed, it becomes impossible for them to con¬ 
tinue their laborious career. 

14 * 


162 


FILIAL AND 


Ursula .—How becoming it would be for 
children to reflect on all this ! if they could 
understand that, to render their lessons pro¬ 
fitable, they should receive them with per¬ 
fect docility ; this docility gives great satis¬ 
faction to teachers ; it is a reward for their 
labor and an encouragement for them to per¬ 
severe in a life so full of sacrifices and self- 
denial. Let us listen to their friendly voice 
as if it were that of our father, our mother, 
or that of God. Ah ! how deplorable is the 
example of those children who shun the 
authority of their masters, who laugh at their 
advice, and who get incensed at their slight¬ 
est reprimand, and who insensibly indispose 
against their masters the greater number of 
their comrades, to whom they have given 
bad example! 

Lewis .—That is an indocility akin to 
wickedness, which sooner or later will re¬ 
ceive its own punishment from God. 

John .—The first chastisement which they 
cannot elude will be their ignorance, then 
the faults of their childhood and of their 
youth, which increase with years; in a word, 
their wantonness in society will render them 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


163 


despicable and odious; they will be regard¬ 
ed as bad citizens, because they have been 
insubordipate scholars. Such is the abyss 
which is ready to receive those who give 
vent to bad temper, and who deviate from 
the path of virtue. 

Lewis .—Let me narrate an occurrence of 
which I was witness not long since, and 
which impressed me so deeply, that I shall 
never forget it: A young man who works at 
Mr. Francis’s, but whose name I shall not 
mention, was offered lately a situation as 
foreman in this important place of business. 
He was obliged, by reason of his ignorance, 
to refuse the place; and I heard the unfortu¬ 
nate young man nigh cursing his parents, 
who had not made him attend his classes, 
when he was young, and his masters, who 
had not inspired him with a taste for 
study. 

John .—It is difficult, if not impossible, to 
give children an inclinat.ioh for study when 
they are not encouraged by their parents, 
who do not send them to school. 

Florimond .—Those examples are painful 
but true; let us therefore contemplate the 


164 


FILIAL AND 


happiness of children who prove their grati¬ 
tude towards those who have so much solici¬ 
tude to teach them human science, and above 
all to form their hearts to the love of God, 
and to the practice of religion and virtue. 
Happy is he who is possessed of such feel¬ 
ings ! For who has better *claim to the sin¬ 
cere expression of those sentiments than the 
teachers whose existence is wholly conse¬ 
crated to the instruction of youth ? If, later 
in life, it happen that we prosper, that we be 
honored and considered, we may attribute 
our success to the education we have received 
in our youth. Those advantages are great, 
but there are still greater. In effect, the 
virtue which we will have been taught to 
cherish, the religion which we shall have 
studied and respected, hence to observe in 
all its precepts, will open for us the gates of 
heaven after having given us happiness here 
below. Are not such benefits worthy of 
our gratitude—benefits the memory of which 
should be forever indelibly engraven in our 
hearts \ 

Lewis .—In concluding this conversation, 
we can say with reason that great hopes are 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


165 


founded on children who behave as those of 
whom Florimond speaks ; who honor and re¬ 
spect their parents and their teachers, and 
even the strangers of their neighborhood. 
Let us reap some benefit from this lesson 
which we have, as it were, given to ourselves, 
by speaking openly of all we have seen and 
heard in our schools, from our teachers, or in 
the company of our father and our mother. 
We will prove our good intentions, by mani¬ 
festing in every possible way our gratitude 
to our superiors, and by convincing them 
that we love them with all the sincerity of 
our hearts. 


166 


FILIAL AND 


OBEDIENCE TO PARENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 

WE MUST OBEY OUR FATHER AND OUR 
MOTHER: IT IS THE LAW OF GOD. 

There is nothing that is more recommend¬ 
ed to us in the Scriptures than obedience; 
it is most particularly mentioned in Ec- 
clesiasticus, which is one of its most beauti¬ 
ful books of morality, and full of admirable 
precepts and wise counsels: “ Children,” 
says its holy author, listen to the advice of 
your father and follow it, so as you shall be 
saved, for God has made ybur father worthy 
of veneration, and he has strengthened the 
authority of your mother.” 

Jesus Christ has given us a great example 
of obedience ; King of heaven and earth, 
every thing is subject to his will, yet the 
Gospel tells us that he submitted to live in 
the most humble condition on earth, that he 
obeyed Joseph and Mary, and that he spent 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 167 

thirty years of his life in perfect submission 
to them. 

In the old law, Isaac gave a striking ex¬ 
ample of filial obedience. * How touching 
to see this son accompanying his father to 
the mountain whenever he was to be immo¬ 
lated, according to the orders that his father 
had received from Heaven ! To see him so 
resigned, so submissive, so obedient!—he 
does all that his father asks of him ; he lies 
down on the pile which is to consume him, 
and he allows himself to be bound to it; he 
is about to receive the fatal stroke, and he 
is resigned. Abraham’s arm is uplifted 
against his own son, who accepts death! 

But God, who is pleased with Isaac, who 
sacrifices his life, and with his father who 
sacrifices his son, called him by his name: 
“ Abraham, Abraham, do not sacrifice 
your son; I know now that you fear 
God, since you did not spare the object you 
most cherish.” At the same time he prom¬ 
ised him abundant blessings, by multiply¬ 
ing his posterity as the stars of the firmament 
or as the grains of sand of the sea-shore, and 
that all nations would be blessed in his race. 


168 


FILIAL AND 


But God, who is pleased t<5 reward the 
obedience of children who obey their parents, 
chastises and curses those who neglect this 
duty. Thus Absalom, who had for a long 
time plotted against his father, carried his 
wickedness so far as to revolt openly against 
him ; he took up arms and attempted to de¬ 
throne his father. David, meantime, sent his 
troops to oppose the rebels—recommending, 
however, his soldiers to spare his son, if 
they were successful. The two armies being 
in presence of each other, that of Absalom, 
though much larger, was routed and entirely 
defeated, and the rebel prince was obliged to 
flee. But, O Providence, O divine wisdom! 
the mule on which he was mounted, galloping 
at full speed, passed under a tufted oak ; the 
beautiful hair of the rebellious son beame 
entangled in its branches, and thus the un¬ 
happy rider remained suspended, whilst his 
saddled beast continued his course. 

Meanwhile, Joab, general of the victori¬ 
ous army, reached the fatal spot, and, de¬ 
spite the orders of David, buried the point 
of his lance three times in Absalom’s heart. 
Likely, God permitted this disobedience on 


fKATERNAL PIETY. 


169 


the general’s part, to punish the disobedi¬ 
ence, or rather the revolt and the ingratitude, 
of Absalom. 

By this example we can form an idea of 
the enormity of the sin of disobedience, and 
how wicked rebellious and ungrateful chil¬ 
dren are in the sight of God. 

CHAPTER, II. 

WE MUST OBEY OUR PARENTS: NOTHING IS 
MORE REASONABLE. 

What authority is more holy, more sacred 
than that of parents ? They are by nature 
the masters, the lords, the kings of their 
children ; on the other hand, what authority 
is more gentle, more amiable, more kind ? 
The good son is naturally inclined to submit 
to it; it is a necessity to him ! Indeed, no 
reasonable child, fearing God, can help say¬ 
ing: a If God were to*appear to me and to 
give me his orders, could I disobey him ? 
Ah! truly no, with promptitude, with joy, 
with happiness, we would execute his divine 
will, were we even to risk our lives accom¬ 
plishing it. Well, then, those who have 
15 


170 FILIAL AND , 

given me life, who hold for me the place of 
Almighty God, are the depositaries of his 
authority; consequently I, must obey them 
as I would obey God.” 

On the other hand again, he who resists 
the will of his parents, is rebellious to God, 
and acts contrary to reason ; he is deaf to the 
voice of God whilst he listens with avidity 
to that of foolish passions. Ah ! dear chil¬ 
dren, life’s pathway is strewed with tempta¬ 
tions ; it is like a perilous sea, on which a 
pilot is necessary to guide us from danger. 
And what pilot is more interested in our 
safety than a good father or a tender mother ? 
They have traversed the'passages of life 
wherein we now stand, and they know their 
various dangers. More than any one, do 
they wish our happiness ; and to accomplish 
it they caution us, they give us wise lessons 
and sound advice. 

How unhappy is the child who does not 
perceive that he is going astray whilst he 
violates the sacred duty of obedience! He 
seeks to free himself from its yoke, which 
he regards as insupportable, and, like the 
blind man who treads alone on the edge of 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


171 


a precipice, he is soon precipitated to the 
bottom. However, it is only by obedience 
that we gain the holy and happy liberty of 
the children of God. “ Take away self-will,” 
says St. Bernard, “and hell no longer exists.” 

Happy is he who comprehends what obe¬ 
dience is ; how satisfied he feels when he 
can show his tenderness to his parents to 
whom he is so much indebted, to fulfil the 
will of those who have done so much for 
him; who have satisfied him in his wishes, 
who have ever anticipated them when his 
infant tongue was unable to speak his wants! 
Ah! certainly; whatever pleases his parepts 
will please him, their desires will be his, 
their happiness his happiness. He flies 
where obedience calls him, he anticipates 
their wishes, he yields to tlieir advice ; such 
is the obedience that is not urged by fear, 
which is a cruel tyrant of the soul, but it is 
prompted by a good heart that finds no dif¬ 
ficulty in accomplishing the will of cherished 
parents. \ 

He yields still more : obedience cautions 
him against all that might pain his parents ; 
it keeps him near them ; it forbids dangerous 


172 


FIIIAL AND 


intimacies—society which he would regret 
to know ; it deprives him of those enjoyments 
which he would find inconvenient and out 
of place ; in a word, it regulates his conduct 
whilst it guides his will. If he fall into 
error, he does not conceal it; falsehood is 
never on his lips, and much less in his heart; 
he candidly confesses his wrongs, as a sick 
person would tell his sickness to a doctor; 
lie receives this advice with gratitude ; he 
imitates their prudence, their wisdom, their 
gentleness, their moderation, and all their 
virtues, to adorn himself, as with the most 
beautiful of ornaments, with that which will 
give him glory in heaven and peace on earth. 
A son who acts according to this rule is 
happy, and his peaceful conscience whispers 
to him, “ You have done your duty,” and his 
heart adds, “Your father and your mother 
know you love the.m.” Joy fills his soul, and 
sheds an expression of satisfaction all over 
his features. IJe finds happiness where the 
disobedient child finds bitter deception. O 
holy obedience ! heavenly virtue, which God 
prefers to great sacrifices ; source of peace, 
conservator of order, the safeguard of fami- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


m 


lies, and the delight of all societies; be al¬ 
ways the guide of my heart, keep me from 
the deceptive ways of self-will, and lead me 
to life everlasting ! 

However, there are circumstances when 
obedience ceases to be a duty ; it is when the 
orders of parents are in opposition to the 
commandments of God or the holy Church ; 
but these occur so rarely, that we think it 
sufficient to indicate them without further 
explanation. 

THE YOUNG ARMENIAN. 

A lad of ten years old gives us an admira¬ 
ble example of fortitude that can be com¬ 
pared to the heroic constancy of martyrs. 
He attended a school where he had learned 
the admirable maxims of the true religion. 
His father, who was an Armenian, and an 
enemy to Catholicity, was determined to 
make him renounce his faith; and wishing to 
arrive at his ends, he tried caresses, promises, 
and entreaties, but aR was in vain, the boy 
remained unshaken in his religion. Then 
the Armenian had recourse to threats and 
chastisements, which the child suffered with- 
15 * 


m 


FILIAL AND 


out complaint. However, the uneasiness 
caused by his father’s blindness troubled 
him much more than the severity of which 
he was the object, and he fell sick. During 
his illness he had the happiness to witness his 
father’s conversion, and he changed totally 
in his behalf. Happy boy, who by his pa¬ 
tience and his prayers led his father out of 
the path of error ! 

OTHER EXAMPLES—THE COURAGEOUS BOY. 

Two residents of the barriers of Paris, 
husband and wife, had lived for many years 
in the way of vice, and, what was worse, they 
lived at the expense of others. To supply 
their wants, and when their own pockets 
were empty, they found it convenient to 
take out of other people’s pockets. This 
wretched pair had a son, and, strange con¬ 
tradiction, in spite of the contagious ex¬ 
ample, the boy was instinctively honest, 
„ and obstinately refused to follow the trade 
in which they hoped to train him. 

To do as others, or rather to rid themselves 
of his presence, the family X-*— sent their 
boy to instructions. One day the priest was 



fr'aternal piety. 


175 


explaining and propounding the command¬ 
ment, “Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's 

goods.” The young X-wept bitterly, but 

the. priest did not seem to notice him until 
the instruction was concluded*, then he call¬ 
ed him apart and solicited him to tell the 
cause of his trouble. “ Alas ! sir,” an¬ 
swered the child, “ I shall tell you all: every 
night my father beats me when I go home 
without taking something with me—but I 
do not wish to be a thief; oh 1 no, I prefer 
being beaten.” And the courageous child per¬ 
severed in those noble sentiments. For 
several years he allowed himself to be ill- 
treated, until the fruits of honest labor re¬ 
leased him from the cruel tyranny of his 
parents. Is not such courage worthy of 
praise ? 

THE REFRACTORY CHILD. 

Let us alwa} 7 s be tractable and obedient, 
and let us not imitate those unruly children 
who follow tlieh* fancies, who do not yield to 
the will of others, but who would, on the 
contrary, that- every one should bend to their 
will. 



176 


FILIAL AND 


A nobleman of Provence bad an only son 
named Emile, in whose person nature bad 
united all the qualities of an amiable child, 
but at the same time be was so ungovernable 
and so headstrong that he was insupportable 
to all those who cared or instructed him. 
He would obey no one, yet everybody 
should satisfy his caprices, and when per¬ 
chance he was resolutely opposed, he gave 
himself up to such extremes of insub¬ 
ordination that sometimes it resembled a 
kind of frenzy. This is what happened 
one day that his father was absent from 
home. Emile wished to go out, and imperi¬ 
ously demanded the door to be opened. 
After uselessly reasoning with him, his 
governess told him that his orders should 
not be obeyed. Then he cried, he screamed, 
he manifested in twenty ways the violence of 
his temper, until at length seeing that he was 
not noticed, he threw himself breathless on the 
parlor floor and rolled to and fro as one de¬ 
prived of reason. Meantime the father return¬ 
ed home, and asking where his dear Emile 
was, he learned from the governess the details 
of the kbove ipentioned scene. Hereupon he 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 177 

entered the apartment where his son lav, and 
whom he did not feign to see, he stamped 
his feet, lie threw his hands upwards in ap¬ 
parent despair, he sighed and he exclaimed : 
“ Oh ! heavens, can it be my son out of his 
mind ? he acted as one who would be frantic! 
I can no longer have him near me, nor 
fold him in my arms, nor caress him, nor 
give him each day new marks of my love ! 
He must leave me to be shut up in a lunatic 
asylum. This dear sort, from whom I expect¬ 
ed so much consolation, will henceforth be 
for me a cruel source of trouble ! AH ! great 
God, punish me, take my life, but spare my 
son his reason ! I would prefer death rather 
than to see him a lunatic.” , 

Whilst the father thus spoke, manifesting, 
the while, his utter despair, the child remained 
ensconced under the table at the farther end 
of the apartment, attentively observing his 
gesticulations and listening silently to what 
he said, and I leave you to imagine his situa¬ 
tion. He trembled, he blushed, he wept, but 
he was so confused that he did not dare show 
himself. However, the sorrow with which 
he was penetrated overcame his shame, and 


178 


FILIAL AND 


* 

he availed liimself of the opportunity of his 
father, who continued to pace the room, turn¬ 
ing his back to his hiding place, to follow 
him noiselessly, and at the moment when his 
father cried : u O heavens! to have a son a 
lunatic!” 

“Ko, no, .father,” said the child, falling at 
his feet, his eyes bathed with tears, “your 
son is not a lunatic, and he promises you to 
be a good boy for the future.” 

At these words his* father folded him to 
his breast, mingled his tears with his, and ex¬ 
pressed his joy by tender caresses ; but that 
which was most pleasing to his good father 
(who related me this little incident), was to • 
see his child persevere in his promise, for 
since that day he never manifested' the 
slightest insubordination. 

THE MOON. 

W e read in the Comte de Yalmont a great¬ 
er instance of frowardness, and which would 
scarcely be credited were it not averred by 
many reliable persons. An accomplished 
lady had a son, and she so much feared that 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


179 


contradiction would impair his health, that 
he had become a perfect little tyrant, and he 
would fly into the most violent spells of rage 
at the slightest resistance. Her husband, 
her relations, and her friends sought to per¬ 
suade her of the danger attending such an 
education, but all in vain. One day she was 
in her room, and she heard her son crying in 
the yard ; he tore his face with spite, because 
one of the servants refused him something 
he desired. 

“You are very impertinent,” said she, to 
the man, “not to give the child that for 
which he asks. Obey him instantly.” 

“ Indeed, madam,” answered the valet, 
“ if he cry till to-morrow, he can’t have it.” 

On hearing this, the lady became so excit¬ 
ed that she was nigh convulsed. She rushed 
forward, and as she passed through the apart¬ 
ment in which were her husband and some 
friends, she begged of him to accompany 
her to eject from the house the insolent fel¬ 
low who dared to resist her. The hus¬ 
band, who was as indulgent for hia wife as 
she was for her child, accompanied her to the 
yard, and the other persons looked out of the 


180 


FILIAL AND 


window to learn the cause of the disturb¬ 
ance. 

“ Insolent fellow,” said he to the valet, 
“ how dare you disobey madame by refusing 
the child what he wishes ?” 

“Indeed, sir,” said the valet, “perhaps 
madame can give it herself! A quarter of 
an hour ago he saw the moon in a bucket of 
water, and he w f ants to have it.” 

On hearing this, the husband and the 
friends manifested their surprise by loud 
shouts of laughter ; the lady, too, despite her 
anger, could not help sharing their hilarity, 
and afterwards she was so ashamed of the 
occurrence that she made an amiable'boy of 
this self-willed and unruly child. 

With reason, does the author call such 
children unruly. What is more disagree¬ 
able, more contemptible than those^unruly 
dispositions ? Such children are detested, 
avoided, shunned, whereas obedient children 
are sought after, and one is pleased to be in 
their midst, to care for them and to instruct 
them ; and the lessons they receive will ne¬ 
cessarily bring good fruit. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


181 


DIALOGUE 

ON . * 

THE OBEDIENCE OF CHILDREN TOWARDS THEIR 
PARENTS. 

Persons represented. —Cecilia, Augusta, Gustavus, 
Emile, Paul. 

Paul. —Well, Cecilia, are you not going 
to play with us ? Gustavus has just ar¬ 
ranged a swing at the end of the garden, 
and it is so strong and so easy that I’m very 
sure you will like it. 

Cecilia .—I am right willing to try it; 
however, I cannot do so before I arrange 
the listen (which the washerwoman has 
brought) in the drawers and in the closets. 
Mother told me to do so ten minutes ago. 
As soon as I have finished, I shall be with 
you, my dears, and I shall enjoy the swing. 
I’m sure it must be a wonder, if our dear 
Gustavus had any thing to do with it. 

Paul .—Why not come now ? the linen ! 
the linen ! you can arrange it later, it can’t 
fly away, no more than the drawers or 
closets. 

Cecilia (looking steadfastly at him).— 
1G 


182 


FILIAL AND 


Paul, would you preach disobedience ? this 
is not your wont. 

Paul .—Preach disobedience! oh no, but 
allow me to tell you that postponing a task 
for a few minutes, is not refusing to do it— 
it is not disobeying. 

Cecilia. —In my turn, let me tell you se¬ 
riously (as I am older than you), that to 
make such distinctions and to act according 
to your ideas, is not disobeying formally, 
but it is not performing our duty in a right 
manner. 

Augusta .—I am of Cecilia’s opinion. 
Obedience is a strict duty. It is a law to 
obey our parents, who are the representatives 
of God’s will on earth, and he has transmit¬ 
ted to them all his authority. A child who 
is so rash as to resist his parents, to refuse 
submitting to their orders, or to not abstain 
from whatsoever they condemn, becomes 
rebellious and guilty towards God. And 
the injury resulting from this resistance falls 
on him whom they represent. It would be 
as if they said to God: “ No, I shall not 
obey you.” Moreover, reason and our own 
interests prompt us to be obedient. Indeed, 


fraternal pie^y. 183 

if we consider things in this light, whether 
our parents command or forbid we should 
obey ; because they are taught by long ex¬ 
perience, and they know what is useful and 
advantageous for us; therefore, let us con¬ 
form to this commandment without hesita¬ 
tion or murmur. 

Emile .—Do you know, dear Augusta, that 
you speak like a preacher. 

Gustavus. —Brother, I side with my sister, 
and we do not countenance jests. 

Emile .—I do not jest. I had no better 
way of expressing the satisfaction I have to 
hear her speak of this virtue which we should 
practice, but which we do not always very 
well understand. 

Gustavus .—To take things at their source, 
Augusta could have added that to obey is to 
avoid with care all that has been forbidden 
us, and to do all that is commanded us. In 
the latter case, to meet the views of our 
parents, to satisfy them, and to make our¬ 
selves agreeable in the sight of God, it does 
not suffice to conform to whatsoever is com¬ 
manded us; but furthermore, we must com¬ 
ply from our own free will, and in view of 


'184 


FILIAL AND 


accomplishing a duty, and of giving a legiti¬ 
mate pleasure to those who have so great a 
right to expect it from us. 

Paul. —Oh! now, I see why Cecilia had 
scruples, why she persisted in remaining 
here instead of coming to the swing, in spite 
of all my entreaties. 

Augusta— I was too-well aware of Ceci¬ 
lia’s submission to think for a moment she 
would yield to you, even had you been more 
pressing. Cecilia knows that carelessness 
and delay in executing orders, are equivalent 
to a refusal to obey. 

Gustavus .—How much worse it would be, 
if to carelessness and delay we .add sundry 
marks of impatience, such as tears, screams, 
and stamping of feet. We could not mani¬ 
fest disobedience in a greater way ; and after 
being noisy and unruly, we accomplish care¬ 
lessly whatever has been commanded us. 

Emile .—Our school-master told us lately 
of a little boy who was sent away last year* 
The parents, who were well aware of his 
faults, had no hard feelings against the mas¬ 
ter on this account; on the contrary, they 
sometimes visited him and unburdened 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


185 


their troubles to him. Recently they said : 
“Ah! sir, if you knew what a source of 
trouble Charles is to us ! we have none but 
him to send on errands, whilst we work 
hard from morning till night to make a 
living, and indeed we have great trouble to 
make the two ends meet. Charles, who is 
getting a big boy,’ought to consider' our 
trouble and our fatigues, and he should show 
liis readiness to work and help us; but no, 
sir, it is no such thing. One would suppose 
he took pleasure in annoying and displeasing 
us. If I send him on an errand, he stands 
for an hour muttering between his teeth and 
complaining rudely. Then, very naturally 
when our anger is up, he gets a flogging 
which sends him on his way ; but no sooner v 
is he in the street than he cries and screams 
so that he might be heard a quarter of a 
mile off. To be sure, we make him obey 
us ; but see the trouble, consider the loss 
of time. Oh! he is a perpetual torment, and 
we know not what to do. What think you, 
sir V “ What I think,” answered the mas¬ 
ter ; “ well, you embarrass me. I know he is 
exactly as you say. lie is a disobedient 
16 * 


186 


FILIAL AND 


boy, but lie is young; lie may change ; I hope 
it, both for your sake and for his.” 

Of course the good schoolmaster could not 
express himself otherwise; but I think m 
reality, there is little hope for his amend¬ 
ment. 

Cecilia .—That is also my opinion, and 
indeed, unless through Grod’s. goodness, and 
by extraordinary means and efforts on his 
part, how could a boy of fourteen years old, 
of such a disposition, and who is every day 
growing worse, how could he change and 
become obedient to his parents ? 

Emile .—It cannot be said, however, that 
it is impossible to amend. Nothing is im¬ 
possible to God, who changes children as 
well as hardened sinners ; and to wait or to 
hope for such a miracle is exposing one’s self 
to great dangers. Disobedience, unlike other 
faults, which are, as it w.ere, isolated and 
without ramification, includes many, which 
principally are obduracy, pride, hard-lieart- 
edness, etc. ITe who resists his parents, 
who rarely obeys them, does not love 
them ; for if he did love them; if their image, 
• which is that of God, were graven in his 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 1ST 

heart; if their tenderness, if their sacrifices, 
if tlfbir continual kindness, had made any im¬ 
pression on him, he would show them obedi¬ 
ence, which is the greatest token of love and 
gratitude. 

Gustavus .—As Emile has entertained you 
about a disobedient boy, allow me, in my 
turn, to tell you of one who affords quite a 
contrary example. My aunt related it to me 
during my last stay at her house. I really 
think she had her own view in doing so, and 
if I have not exactly answered her good in¬ 
tentions, I am well disposed; witli a little 
care and watchfulness, I shall make myself 
worthy of her satisfaction. 

Cecilia. —Ah! 1 pray you, give your ex¬ 
ample; we are impatient to hear it. 

Paul. —True, Oecilia. has linen to put 
away, and if you do not hurry, off she goes ; 
and knowing her punctuality, her submis¬ 
sion, her good-will, we cannot, in good part, 
blame her. Quick, she has but a few mo¬ 
ments to spare. * 

Gustavus. —Well, it is not long. He was 
a boy of our age, and the son of one of 
Aunt’s friends. His parents dearly loved 


188 


FILIAL AND 


him, and it is well to say, that he was worthy 
of their love. Well-informed in religion, 
and sincerely pions, he made it a point of 
duty to please them in every possible way. 
He considered it a great misfortune to sin 
against any of the commandments of God; 
he knew that God is our master, and that 
He has every right to exact submission from 
us; therefore, he was of an exemplary docility, 
and his parents, reading in his heart (which 
concealed nothing from them), saw that his 
submission was not the effect of fear of pun¬ 
ishment, nor the hope of reward, but the 
love he had for God alone. After God, he 
cherished his parents more than any one in 
the world ; and he evinced his affection and 
his preference for them by submission, regard, 
and perfect obedience; it was visible that he 
had meditated on, and studied the sublime 
obedience of the Divine child towards Mary 
and Joseph, in the holy retreat at Hazareth. 
Do not suppose, from what Aunt told me, 
that this boy was a little ‘philosopher, a 
prodigy who astonished every one by his 
serious deportment, and who engendered 
gloom and melancholy wherever he went. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


189 


Ah ! no indeed ; Albert was the soul of mirth, 
the most blithesome, the most amiable boy 
possible; being, besides, a generous-hearted 
playmate. 

Emile .—That is not surprising ; have we not 
often heard that peace of heart and mind is 
the true source of joy and happiness, and at 
our age, the virtue of obedience is one of the 
principal causes of this happiness. How can 
a child be. troubled who obeys his parents ? 
He is Always sure to be in the'right path, 
and all his actions are guaranteed by their 
wise experience. What regrets, what bodily 
and mental dangers he avoids when he re¬ 
lies on their counsel! Our dear father has 
often said that the number of children lost, 
at our age, is very great, because in spite of 
advice and caution, they have associated 
with companions who have been liable to 
set them astray by bad example. 

Gustavus .—Albert is ever present in my 
memory. I shall take him as a model of 
obedience and filial piety. Is it not the 
greatest mark of affection I can give my 
parents ? I do not pretend to equal him, 
but I can try and imitate him. Such is my 


190 


FILIAL AND 


resolution. You will share it with me, I’m 
sure. 

Emile. Your sentiments are in harmony 
with ours, and upon this head I answer for 
my brothers and sisters. 


9 



/ 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


191 


BODILY ASSISTANCE DUE TO PARENTS. ' 


CHAPTER I. 

A CHILD MUST HELP HIS FATHER AND HIS 
MOTHER IN.THEIR TEMPORAL WANTS. 

1. Of all the duties which we have to ful¬ 
fil towards our good parents, there is none 
more important than that of assisting them 
in their wants. And is it not kind care, 
attendance during sickness, assiduity and 
generosity, which infirmities, old age, and 
the indigence of parents exact, and which 
are manifested by respect, piety, by sincere, 
pure, and disinterested love? 

The hypocritical Pharisees blushed not to 
teach that a son whose parents are in want, 
is agreeable to God when he offers in the 
temple the money wherewith he might have 
assisted them, and that by making this offer¬ 
ing for them, he fully satisfies the precept: 
“ Honor thy father and thy mother.” And 


192 


FILIAL AND 


one day having approached our Saviour, 
they said : “ Why do your disciples violate 
the ancient tradition? they do not deign to 
wash their hands before partaking of their 
meals.” “ And you,” answered the Lord, 
“why do you violate the commandment 
of God to follow your tradition ? Does not 
God formally say, Honor thy father and thy 
mother ? and again : He who insults by words, 
his father or his mother, shall be punished 
with death?' But you say: ‘ When we tell 
our father and our mother, that whatsoever 
we offer to God will turn to their profit, we 
have no other need to assist thefnyou cast 
then aside the commandment of God for 
your tradition. Hypocrites, it is ye of 
’whom’Isaiah said, in a prophetic spirit: 
6 Thy people honor me by word, but their 
heart is far from me.’ ” The Lord refuses, 
with indignation, the offering that is detri¬ 
mental to parents. Yes, indeed, if we re¬ 
fuse them aid can we do good works? Our 
religion is vain, it does not honor God, but 
it offends him. 

2. Howsoever little feeling of humanity 
a man has left in his heart, he cannot see, 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


193 


without being moved, his neighbor in dis¬ 
tress ; his heart softens at the sight of his 
sorrows, and he willingly assists him ; and 
a son, in the presence of those who have 
given him being, could he be insensible to 
their misery, to their infirmities, to their 
suffering old age? Would he be deaf to 
the solicitations of a father, of an ailing 
mother who has nursed him, cared for him, 
guided him in the helplessness of his in¬ 
fancy ? Would he load with grief those 
who have shared his joys and his pains, who 
have watched over him and pitied him in 
his sickness? Would he refuse bread to 
those w T ho have spent nights at his bed-side, 
and who are now perhaps in poverty, owing 
to the sacrifices they have made for him, 
of their health, their strength, their fortune ? 
This would be a horrid •cruelty, a monstrous 
ingratitude, a parricide so much more culpa¬ 
ble as it would be premeditated. 

3 . But, maybe the misery of those parents 
is merited ; maybe this want, those infirmi¬ 
ties, are the results of a misspent life, of a 
disorderly conduct. If your parents are 
guilty,! O ungrateful son, should you accuse 
. 


194 


FILIAL AND 


them ? Should you also be guilty"? Such 
an inhuman thought offends nature and re¬ 
ligion. Wretched child! how often have 
you squandered the benefits you hold from 
God ! and yet, has He for an instant ceased 
to protect you ? has he withdrawn from you 
his favors ? Alas ! perhaps too much tender¬ 
ness, too much indulgence to satisfy your 
fancies and your whims, have been the cause 
of your parents’ need, of which you blame 
them so unmercifully. Cruel son 1 can you 
see your father, your mother covered with 
rags and deprived of the necessary food for 
their subsistence? The charitable stranger 
will assist them, and. you remain unmoved 
at their wretchedness ! Can your hardened 
heart not melt at the sight of their pale and 
suffering brow bent towards the grave 
which you have cruelly prepared for them, 
and their hearts, that have sighed for your 
presence, that have bled at your grief, that 
have loved you so ardently, can no longer 
swell but with the bitterness of their woe! 

A kindly heart would not rejoice at the 
misfortunes of an enemy, and a cruel son 
would remain untouched at those of a friend, 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


195 


of a father, of a mother! He would even 
be the instigator thereof. Assuredly they 
can no longer love him as their child, they 
disown him, they hate the very day on 
which they exclaimed with joy : “ a son is 
born unto us. 

If there exist such an unnatural, such an 
ungrateful son, should he not fear the 
wrath of God, and that in his justice he ren¬ 
der him an object of horror to every one, after 
taking from him, the wealth which lie abuses 
by violating his laws? Should he not fear 
a still greater chastisement, that of eternity ? 

4. O, with what an afflicted heart the 
good son beholds the misery of his parents ! 
how he exerts himself, how he works to re¬ 
lieve them ! How happy he feels if he is 
able to give them back a portion of the care 
bestowed upon him in his childhood. lie 
knows that in spite of all his endeavors, 
however great they may be, he never could 
repay a mother for all she has done for him; 
the uneasiness of mind, the sorrow she has 
endured for him, the subjection to which she 
has submitted, the tender care she has had 
for his health ; the smiles, the caresses, the 


196 


FILIAL AND 


delight, the transports of maternal joy ! No, 
howsoever good a son may be to his mother, 
he never can proportion it to all she has ac¬ 
complished in his behalf. 

POOR MARY. 

A long while ago, in the year 1794, on a 
fine morning in autumn, I was sauntering 
through the fields heedlessly and without 
any particular purpose ; I was absofbed in 
sombre thoughts and unmindful of the 
passing time. Suddenly, I arrived at a 
little wood which barred my passage, and 
which obliged me to take to the right and 
follow a stream that was swelled by the 
rains of October. At a little distance, 
and on the threshold of the door of an 
humble cottage, I saw~ a girl who was spin¬ 
ning hemp, and beside her was sitting, on a 
stone bench, an old man who was slumber¬ 
ing in the sun. As soon as the young spinster 
could perceive me, she beckoned to me not 
to make a noise. I walked therefore cau¬ 
tiously, so as not to aw.ake the old man. On 
entering the cottage I asked for a drink of 
milk. “ Alas ! good sir,” said Mary, “ I wish 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


197 


I had it to give you; but we are sO poor, 
that I have nothing to offer you but a piece 
of bread and a drink of water from the 
stream.” In default of milk I accepted the 
bread and' water. Whilst I ate the coarse 
brown bread, I questioned Mary. Her 
father had formerly been a farmer, and after 
many years of hard work, he was now re¬ 
duced to poverty in his old age. Several 
crops had failed and had ruined him; his 
barn had been burned down; he lost his 
wife, and then when old age came on him, he 
was struck with palsy in all his limbs. His 
daughter was his only child ; she was all he 
bad in the world. The village in which they 
lived was poor, and Mary could scarcely'get 
work. She cultivated a little patch of 
ground which her father ^still owned ; she 
spun a little hemp, she did needlework, and 
withal she hardly earned sufficient bread 
for their subsistence. Nevertheless, she 
was not discouraged. She entertained her 
father by her cheerful conversation; she 
cared for him during the long winter’s 
evenings; and she helped him to walk out 
into the garden, or to sit before the door to 
17 * 


198 


FILIAL AND 


be benefited by the vivifying rays of the 
sun. 

u Why, my child,” said I, “ how can yon 
support yourself with the little you earn ?” 

“ Oh ! I am careful; I manage.” 

“In spite of care and management, you 
have not what will buy you brown bread.” 

“ True, it is not at all times that I have 
this bread, and I am well satisfied when I 
can get it.” 

“ And when you have no more, what do 
you do?” 

“ There’s always a little left for my father ; 
besides, it does not often happen.” 

“ How ?” 

‘feWhen I see the bread lessening, I don’t 
eat it, I keep it for him.” 

“ And you 1 ?” 

“ The cabbage of our garden, with a little 
salt, is enough for me. I am pleased 
when my father is pleased. Once, he 
perceived that I had not enough for my¬ 
self ; he \yas angry and said : ' It is not I who 
should be well fed, for I remain in bed, 
doing nothing, but it is you who work and 
fatigue yourself. I tell you, Mary, if you 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


199 


•are again without bread, I shall not eat any.’ 
But I hide from him and he knows nothing 
about it.” 

“ How is that?” 

“ How ? When he has dined, I carry him 
into the garden, where I leave him; a few 
minutes afterwards I return and he knows 
no more.” 

44 You carry your father?” 

44 1 can when he is on his bed, but when 
he is on the ground in the garden, I have 
great trouble.” 

“ Poor girl! Has it ever happened that 
you have had nothing to eat ?” 

44 Oh yes, sometimes. But God is good. 
One day I had nothing left, I went to bor¬ 
row in two places, but they refused to give 
me any thing. This grieved me so that I 
came home and cried. But the next day, my 
cousin came to see me: 4 You were crying 
yesterday,’ said she; 4 what was the matter, 
why did you not come to see me V I told 
her my trouble, and she gave me. bread for 
the day, and the next day she borrowed 
money to buy me corn. O indeed, my good 
sir, it is hard to have to ask others for help. 


200 


FILIAL AND 


particularly when they are hard-hearted 
and they refuse you. But my father did the 
same for us when we were young. He was 
telling me about it six months ago.” 

“If you remember it, Mary, relate it to 
me.” 

44 Willingly. One day that he had no 
bread, he went to get some in two different 
places, but, he was seht away without any, 
and not daring to go elsewhere, he came 
home and wept bitterly. A neighbor met 
him : 4 What is the matter, Anthony ?’ said 
he, 4 why do you cry, as you stroll around 
your cottage V My father said : 4 Ah ! I 
have three little girls who will ask me fo t 
bread, and I have none to give them.’ 

44 4 Have yoh no bread V 

44 4 Hone, since yesterday.’ 

44 4 Come with me,’ said the good man, and 
he gave him corn for the whole summer. 

44 O yes ! God’s goodness is great.” 

Thus spoke Mary, an excellent girl, whose 
sole occupation, whose only pleasure was her 
father. The time had passed rapidly, it was 
two o’clock, and vespers were ringing. Mary 
saw the people passing to go to church. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


201 


“ How happy they are,” said she, “ but I 
cannot leave my father.” And kneeling 
down by her father’s side, she prayed in low 
accents. I then left the cottage without be¬ 
ing perceived, and I placed on the little deal 
table a few pieces of silver, hoping to return 
from time to time to see this interesting and 
pious girl. But wdnter came with its chilly 
mantle of hoar-frost and snow, and the win¬ 
ter of 1794 was a severe one for the poof. 

'Confined to my room by the cold and by 
illness, my thoughts often wandered to the 
cottage of poor Mary and her father. At 
length, spring has come, the hawthorn is in 
bloom, and the verdure of the meadows is 
green again. My first visit is for Mary and 
her father. Already I have reached the lit¬ 
tle wood, and I turn to the right and follow 
the stream. There is the little cottage, there 
is the stone bench where the old man slum¬ 
bered whilst his daughter spun. But ah ! 
it is now deserted, though the sun is 'warm 
in April. Seized with vague presentiments, 
I hastened my steps, and as I was about en¬ 
tering the cottage, a middle-aged woman 
passed out. “ It is not Mary !” At those 


202 


FILIAL AND 


words which escaped my lips, the woman 
answered : “You knew her then? She is 
a distant relation. Three months ago, in 
the depth of the winter, she was found dead 
beside the frozen corpse of her father. Look 
yonder at her grave!” * And without any 
further conversation, the woman took her 
spade, and went towards the fields. I 
dropped a few tears on the grave where Ma¬ 
ry lies, victim of her filial love. I then took 
two branches of hawthorn, and made a cross 
to which I strung a card with these words: 
“ Poor Mary ! May the Lord reward your 
charity !” 

THE FAMINE. 

A famine ravaged France during the time 
of revolution and terror, and people were 
very glad to find at the baker’s, in Paris, a 
few pieces of stale bread for which they paid 
their weight in' gold. During this time of 
horror, was noticed in the rue St. Paul, near 
the arsenal, a little girl of eight years, who 
was remarkable for her filial piety. When 
her mother would give her a portion of 
bread, she would feign to touch it, but she 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


203 


carefully stored it away in the cupboard. 
Astonished at this abstinence, at a time 
when, in default of bread, one was obliged to 
eat bad potatoes, and other injurious food, 
which caused the death of thousands of chil¬ 
dren, the mother of the little girl said to her 
one day : 

“ My child, why do you not eat ? are you 
not hungry ?” 

“ On the contrary,” said the child, “ I am 
very hungry, but I wish to leave my bread 
for papa, who works hard, and who is in 
great want of food.” 

In spite of all they Could say to her, and 
in spite of their threats to punish her if she 
did not eat her share of bread, she was satis¬ 
fied with a little soup, and kept the rest for 
her father when he returned at night from 
his work. 

This touching example of filial lo.ve was 
soon spread over Paris; it was published in 
the papers, and it occasioned another act of 
generosity. Th#son of a wealthy business 
man residing in the rue St. Honore, having 
heard of the little girl, came a few days after¬ 
wards with three white loaves, a pretty dress 


204 


FILIAL AND 


for the child, and six hundretUrancs, which 
procured great relief to those honest people, 
who were greatly surprised at the unexpected 
presents. 

THE AFFECTION OF YOUNG BELCOMBE. 

Who could read without being moved, of 
the tender affection of young Belcombe? 
Placed at the Royal Military School, he de¬ 
prived himself for several days of every thing 
but soup, and bread and water. The gover¬ 
nor having heard of this eccentricity, and 
supposing it to be an excess of piety, reproved 
him for it. But the youth continued on 
without divulging his secret.. At length, the 
governor, dissatisfied at his persistence, called 
him to his presence, and after rebuking him 
gently, he told him how necessary it was to 
avoid all eccentricity, and to conform him¬ 
self to the rules of the school; but perceiving 
that he was not disposed to explain the mo¬ 
tives of his conduct, he tlfreatened to send 
him back to his parents. 

“Alas! sir,” said the child, “you wish to 
know why I act in this manner, and I will 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


205 


tell you my reasons. When I am home with 
my father, I have but coarse dark bread and 
often nothing else but water to drink. Here 
I eat good soup and white bread at discre¬ 
tion. This is high fare for me, and I cannot 
make up my mind to it, when the remem¬ 
brance of my father and mother reminds me 
of their poverty.” 

The governor brushed away a tear, as he 
felt the genuine affection of Belcombe. ' 

“ But, child,” said he, “ if your father had 
served in the army, has he not a pension?” 

“ No,” replied the boy, “for a year he 
sought for a pension, and lack of money 
forced him to abandon the pursuit, and in 
order not to incur debts at Versailles, he pre¬ 
fers keeping in misery.” 

“ Well, if this be as true as you represent 
it to be, I promise to obtain for your father 
five hundred pounds pension. Since your 
parents are so needy, it is likely you are 
short of pocket money; accept, then, three 
louis, which I give you in the name of the 
king. As to your father, I shall send him 
the first six months of his pension, which I 
am certain to obtain for him.” 

18 


206 


FILIAL AND 


“ Sir,” said the boy, “ how can you send 
him this money ?” 

u Be not uneasy, we shall find means.” 

“ Ah! sir,” said Belcombe, “ since you 
will send it, remit him also the three louis 
you have given me. Here, I have abund¬ 
ance of every thing, and I don’t want them, 
but they will be of use to my father for the 
other children.” 

A WIDOW AND HER THREE SONS 

In the history of Japan, we find another 
great lesson on the care we must bestow up¬ 
on parents who are in need. Though hero¬ 
ism in this example is pushed to excess, and 
it would not be righ't to imitate it, still it 
will confound those who are void of filial 
love. Idolaters furnish us this lesson. A 
woman had been left a widow with three 
sons, who scarcely earned enough to support 
themselves and their mother. The idea of 
a cherished mother suffering from want, 
made -them conceive a strange resolution. 
A robbery had been recently committed, 
and it was published that whosoever would 
deliver up the delinquent, should be hand- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


207 


somely rewarded. The three brothers agreed 
between them, that one of them should pass 
for the robber, whilst the others would bring 
him before the judge. They drew lots, and 
the youngest was to be the criminal. He 
allows himself to be ignominiously bound, 
and led away to court. The judge questions 
him, and he confesses that he has committed 
the deed. He is sent to prison, and the two 
informers receive the promised reward; but 
their hearts bleed for their imprisoned broth¬ 
er and they find means to see him. Supposing 
they were not seen, they embrace him and 
they mingle their tears with his. The ma¬ 
gistrate witnessed them, however, and was 
amazed at so novel a sight; he dispatched 
a commissary to follow the two accusers, 
giving him strict order to not leave them, 
till he found out something concerning this 
strange occurrence. Having performed the 
order given, the man related that having 
seen the two young men enter a house, he 
drew nigh, and heard them narrate to their 
mother what they had done for her sake. 
Ho sooner had the poor woman learued this, 
than she burst forth in loud lamentations, 


208 


FILiAL AND 


and 6he begged of them to return the money, 
saying that she would sooner die than sacri¬ 
fice the honor of her dear son. 

The magistrate could hardly believe the 
story, and having once more brought the 
prisoner before him, he questioned him close¬ 
ly about the pretended robbery,—he even 
threatened him with the most cruel torture, 
but the son persisted in avowing himself 
guilty. 

“ Ah! this is too much,” exclaimed the 
Judge, as he embraced him. “ Virtuous son, 
your conduct touches me.” 

He related the case to the Emperor, who 
was so well pleased at their heroism, that he 
desired to see them, and he loaded them 
with praise and good wishes, and granted a 
large pension to the youngest brother, and 
one to each of the elder ones. 

PAUL AND ANDREW. 

Paul and Andrew were sons of a poor 
widow who lived in Lower Brittany, and not 
being able to provide for the wants of their 
family, they determined to go to Paris to 
serve as masons, and to be able to send some 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


209 


help to their dear mother, and to their sister 
who remained with her. The preparations 
for their journey were not long ; their sole 
baggage consisting of a small bundle tied up 
in a worn-out handkerchief. On arriving in 
Paris, they were fortunate enough to find 
immediate occupation, and even to send, 
after a fortnight, a few francs to their mother 
and sister. Eight months elapsed, and they 
continued to share their little earnings; then 
the w6rk was s suspended, and the brave 
Britons could scarcely support themselves. 
They were not uneasy for their own welfare, 
but for that of their mother and sister. 

“ What shall we do, brother ?” said Paul 
to Andrew, “ our mother and sister will die 
of hunger and with cold, and we are not 
earning any thing.” 

“ A thought strikes me,” said Andrew. 
“ You know that sailors and soldiers are 
wanted ; let us go and engage ourselves; we 
shall each of us have one hundred and fifty 
francs; we can ask to go to Brest, and on our , 
way we can see our good mother and our 
sister. We can give them the three hun¬ 
dred francs, and then we shall leave Brest. 

18 * 


210 


FILIAL AND 


They say that sailors earn fifty centimes a 
day, that makes one franc for us both ; we 
can save as much as possible, and we shall 
have the consolation to assist those we love 
the most in the world.” 

They engage themselves, they leave Paris 
and they stop on their way to embrace their 
mother, and to give her their money. They 
are on the point of departure ! But all was 
not said. The poor widow could not make 
up her mind to accept the money of their 
engagement, nor to see them expose them¬ 
selves to the perilous life on sea. At length 
she consented, after being fully persuaded 
that they had given their word of honor, and 
that they could not retrace their steps. It 
is easier to imagine than describe the affect¬ 
ing scene which took place at the separation. 
This incident occurred the 12th March, 1854. 

Let us hope that the Lord will protect 
those two heroes of maternal love, and that 
they will be restored to a beloved mother. 
Oh! happy are the parents of such children ! 
May God increase their number. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


211 


TWELVE BROTHERS—SOLDIERS. 

True love is ingenious. An old English¬ 
man near a hundred years of age, and a tai¬ 
lor by trade, had twelve sons who were all 
soldiers, and vrho had nothing besides their 
pay to live on. They obtained a furlough, 
and they went to see their father, whom they 
found without bread. 

“ No bread !” exclaimed one of them, “and 
he has given twelve sons to serve the coun¬ 
try ! Our father must be provided for.” 

“ Is there not a pawnbroker here ?” said 
the youngest, after a moment’s reflection. 

“ A pawnbroker,” said another; “ what’s 
the use ? Pawnbrokers are only good to ruin 
the unfortunate people who sacrifice to them 
all they possess; besides, of what use would 
it be 2 They only lend on articles deposited, 
and we have nothing.” 

“ Nothing!” replied the young man. 
“Our father has been a tailor; he is well 
known,—he is dying of hunger, and this is 
a proof that he is honest. We have been 
serving for several years; nobody can say 
that we have in any way acted dishonor- 


212 


FILIAL AND 


ably; let us pledge our honor ; they will 
give us fifty pounds .on this deposit.” 

The idea was unanimously agreed upon; 
the brothers wrote and signed the following 
note: 

“ Twelve Englishmen, the sons of a tailor 
nearly a hundred years old, and reduced to 
the greatest poverty, have faithfully served 
their king and their country; they ask the 
sum of fifty pounds in order to assist their 
unfortunate father. For surety, they pledge 
their honor, and they engage to pay back 
the sum within a year.” 

They present the note to the pawnbroker, 
who tears it up, and gives them the money, 
promising, at the same time, to supply the 
old man with necessaries for the remainder 
of his life. 

No sooner was this occurrence published, 
than a large number of persons hastened to 
go and see him, and none went with empty 
pockets. The old man, adds- the Journal, 
from which we extract this narrative, who 
arrived in London 1775, is now living at 
eftse, and lie is able to leave after his death, 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


213 


a little fortune, which will serve as a reward 
to his dutiful sons. 

A NOBLE LITTLE APPRENTICE. 

A little boy eleven years old, and the 
eldest child of a poor family, composed of a 
father, a mother, and three other children, 
was placed a few months ago in a jeweller’s 
shop. He was not paid, but he was boarded 
and lodged with his master. Every morn¬ 
ing he received two cents for his breakfast. 
One night he ran joyfully to his mother, and 
what was her surprise when she heard him 
say : “ Here mother, here are three francs, 

you can buy sugar for my sick sister, and a 
pinafore for little brother.” 

u Who gave you this money ?” 

“ It is mine, mother ; I have made up this 
sum with the two sous I get for my break¬ 
fast.” 

Thus, this noble boy had had the courage 
to eat dry bread for thirty days, to have the 
satisfaction of offering his first savings to his 
parents. 


214 


FILIAL AND 


PETER. 

The weather was cold, a heavy snow cov¬ 
ered the ground, and the north wind shook 
the trees, and scattered the icicles of their 
wintry mantle. It was at the end of the 
f year 1814, when a soldier from one of the 
•Walloon provinces of Belgium was walking 
towards his native village. Peter had been 
a long time in the army, for double stripes 
were seen on liis grenadier coat-sleeve, and a 
thick mustache marked his sunburnt cheeks. 

“ I have my discharge,” said he; “ my 
aged father and my brother Nicholas will 
soon know the cause .of my long silence. 
This good father who was formerly a soldier 
like me, shall become the object of my love 
and care, soon shall I take charge of the 
farm, and my uniform shall be changed for 
the dress of a workman ; my godson who 
was a baby when I left, is unable to help his 
father, and Nicholas shall find me ready and 
obliging. When I think that in an hour I 
shall see my father, my brother, my sister-in- 
law, and my nephew. If I had not been a 
prisoner, I would have written to them, and 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


215 


they, to me. Let me see. We were at 
March, 1810; the words of their letter are- 
fresh in my memory. I have not forgotten 
a syllable: 

“ ‘ My dear Peter : Our father, whose sight 
becomes weaker every day, has consented to 
leave the army; he lives at the farm, and 
he hopes to see you soon.’ ” 

Peter was walking alongside of a wall, the 
angle of which he was about turning, when 
he heard a voice which was not unknown. 
He stops and listens. 

“ My son, place a little straw near me, 
Azor'will lie down here, and we will warm 
each other; put the blanket on me and stir 
up the embers of the fire; it is colder than it 
was last night.” 

♦ Thus spoke an old man who was sitting 
on the trunk of a tree, and whose beard was 
white as snow. 

An interesting, but pensive-looking boy 
of eleven or twelve years, answered: 

“ Dear grandfather, shall I ask for some 
wood in the neighborhood ?” 

“ Yes, my child,” replied the poor man, 
“ whatsoever be our misery, we cling to life; 


216 


FILIAL AND 


life is a post which we hold from God, and 
from which He alone can relieve us. Sit 
close to me, and place jour hands within 
mine over the foot-stove. Don’t cry, child, 
God never abandons those who have confi¬ 
dence in Him.” 

Peter could not check the emotions of his 
heart; in an instant he turned the angle, 
flung down his gun, and searched in his 
pockets. 

“ Here, old man, here, poor boy,” cried 
he, with pity, “that is near all I possess ; a 
soldier cannot afford much help, but tell me 
the cause of your misery.” 

And the boy related their troubles. 

“ My mother,” said he, “ died six months 
ago, and my father soon followed her; my 
grandfather and I, unable to take care of the 
farm, have just been turned out by the present 
owner.” 

“ And who are you ?” said the soldier, as 
he listened with pain and fear. 

“ The son of Nicholas Lenoir.” 

On hearing this, the soldier staggered and 
fell upon the trunk of the tree beside the old 
man, whom he embraced. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. ' 


217 

“ Father, I am your son, who has come to 
share your misery, or rather to afford you 
happiness in your old ago. God will bless 
my undertaking ; your experience and your 
advice will guide me. And you, little Pe¬ 
ter, come, come on my knees. I am your 
uncle and your godfather. I shall become 
farmer, and we shall be happy yet.” 

Peter obtained the farm, and his family 
re-entered the next day, when a bright and 
cheerful fireside comforted the old man, who 
told all his misfortunes to the returned sol¬ 
dier. • 


THE BEGGAR. 

1^ a small village, a poor but honest fam¬ 
ily lived peacefully by the produce of a patch 
of ground adjoining a little thatched house. 
Adversity, which sometimes visits the pal¬ 
ace of the great, came to the door of this 
humble habitation. They were about to 
bury the aged woman who had been so long a 
thrifty housewife. She left a husband and 
a girl of twelve years. The latter replaced 
her mother, by her courage, her activity, 
and her piety. When she was of age, her 
19 


218 


FILIAL AND 


father married her to an honest, industrious 
workman, and the father being now infirm 
and blind, he gave up all he possessed to his 
children, whom he tenderly loved. 

However, after some time, his son-in-law 
was prostrated by a long and painful illness, 
which soon exhausted his little savings, and 
his poor wife had to redouble zeal and. ac¬ 
tivity ; she worked hard for her husband 
and for. her aged'fatlier. Alas ! to complete 
misfortunes, this courageous woman fell sick, 
and the poor old man, in despair, sought for 
work, but he found no one to employ him. 
He then betook himself to beg, and implored 
the charity of the passers-by. Probably he 
was not aware of the law against mendicity, 
or if he knew it, he thought perhaps to elude 
the vigilance of the police, but unfortunately, 
the poor man was arrested and brought be¬ 
fore the court. % 

On the day appointed he appeared, and 
on hearing his name called out, the poor old 
man of eighty-four years stands up from 
amidst the crowd, supported by his conva¬ 
lescent daughter, still suffering from sickness. 
She guides his tottering steps towards the 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


219 


Judge. His age and his white locks make him 
venerable to look upon. His offence is so 
slight that the usher is loath to show him 
the criminal bench, and he allow’s him to re¬ 
main before the railing of the masnstrate’s 
seat. To the questions of the Judge, the 
daughter of the old man answered in a 
trembling voice: 

“ My father does not hear you, sir ; if you 
will allow me, I will answer for him.” 

u Your father is accused of vagrancy.” 

“'God pardon his accusers, sir; my father 
has never left me, and so long as I can work, 
he will be a charge to no one. My husband 
has been sick for the last month, and then I 
was sick also; we had no bread, no money; 
we were in the greatest want. My father 
got up one morning, and went out, and at 
evening he came home and sat by my bed¬ 
side, crying. I asked him what 4 was the 
matter, and he said that his -age was an ob¬ 
stacle to his obtaining work. ‘ I must then 
beg,’ said he, ‘ for I cannot let you die for 
want of bread.’ I told him I was better, 
and that the next day I would work, but I 
grew w r orse. That day my father went out 


220 


FILIAL AND 


without speaking a word. An hour after they 
came to tell me that officers had arrested 
him for begging.” 

“ Your father has been asking public 
charity. It is against the law,—he merits 
punishment.” 

“ I pray you, sir, a little indulgence; be¬ 
sides, if he has done so, it was not for himself 
but for me.” 

“ Your father is infirm, he can go to the 
alms-house. At least I would not be a bur¬ 
den to my family.” 

“Father, what say you?—a burden ! Oh ! 
no, you are no burden. We could not live 
happily without you. So long as I can 
work, I shall share my bread with you. My 
father cared for me when I was young, and 
he never considered me a charge. I shall care 
for him in his old age. Ah ! Judge, |pve me 
back my father, pardon him this fault, and 
I promise you he shall never beg again.” 

After these words, the Judge scarcely 
heard the complaint, and Justice inclined to 
Yirtue, by restoring the father to his daugh¬ 
ter. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


221 


t 


THE GOOD SON. 

A suffering widow quite enfeebled by years, 

Lived in great poverty, and often in tears; 

Her windows were broken, and her room it was bare, 
And winter’s rude blast entered night and day there. 

The poor feeble old dame no longer could spin, 

For her fingers were chilled, and her eyes were dim. 
And if God had not placed by her side a good son, 
She should have begged her bread and sometimes 
have none. 

But her son was there, and he bade her “ hope ever.” 
He solaced her w r oe, and from her ne’er would sever, 
His honest heart knew that to abandon his mother, 
Is a crime God will punish sooner or later. 

But if the poor old widow was afflicted so, 

He was young, able, and brave, and quite willing, I 
trow ; 

It was his fond duty, and his constant delight, 

To work for his mother in the day or at night. 

At the dawn of the morning and after a prayer, 

To the fields he repaired to ardently labor ; 

At evening he returned to his mother so dear, 

Gave the fruits of his work, and banished her fear. 

And oh ! how she loved her own gentle protector ; 
How grateful she felt when he came home to see her; 
19 * 


'222 


FILIAL AND 


Yet she sighed as she wiped off the sweat of his brow, 
And she wept, though smiles on him she’d often be¬ 
stow. 

As a model of virtue, at night he would sit 
By the cheerful bright hearth, as pure happiness lit 
Up his noble brow. And a sweet consolation 
Amply rewarded his filial devotion. 

Emile Bouchaud. 


DIALOGUE 

ON 

THE BODILY HELP DUE TO PARENTS BY THEIR 
CHII^DREN. 

Persons represented. Josephine, Anna, Flobestan, 
Augustin, Philip, brothers and sisters. 

Philip. — Whence do you come, Jose¬ 
phine? We have not seen you since this 
morning. We did not ask our parents where 
you were gone, but I suppose they knew of 
your whereabouts. 

Josephine. — Y r ou are right to suppose 
that I did not go out without asking their 
leave, and since you wish to know where I 
was, I have just parted with my friend Car¬ 
oline and her brother Joseph. I am quite 


223 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 

i 

edified at the affection they show their fa¬ 
ther.” 

Augustin .—That is nothing new; it is well 
known that they are excellent children, and 
two perfect models of filial devotion. 

Josephine. —Yes, everybody admires their 
obedience, their filial piety, their exactitude, 
but this morning only have I learned that 
their father is prostrated by an illness that 
may prove fatal, and Joseph and Caroline 
are like consoling angels at his bedside ; and 
if God spares him, it may well be supposed 
that * their care, their attention, their devo¬ 
tedness, have contributed to restore him to 
health. 

Florestan.— Certainly, certainly, how could 
a father not be touched at the solicitude and 
the affectionate attention of his children? 
If he be sick, what satisfaction he must have 
to witness their gentle demeanor and their 
kindness, during his sufferings ? 

Anna .—We must hope that Mr. Belle¬ 
ville will soon be restored to health. A good 
son and a good daughter are the best doctors 
for an ailing father; their attentive assist¬ 
ance, their many little attentions, which are 


224 


FILIAL AND 


V 

alone * inspired By goodness of heart, are 
assuredly also the best remedies. 

Florestan .—Do not speak so loud ! you 
might disagree with doctor’s medicine, and 
apothecaries. 

Philip. —Apothecaries!—‘that’s old style; 
say druggists. 

Florestan. —Well, let it be druggists, I 
shall not dispute about words. 

Anna. —Besides, we are . not disposed to 
joke. 

Florestan .—I think as you, but somehow 
I’m not grieved at this news ; however, I 
like Mr. Belleville’s children, and I am in¬ 
terested in their welfare. Ah ! assuredly, an 
inward voice tells me to hope. No, I do not 
believe that Joseph and Caroline are on the 
eve of losing their father. God will have pity 
on their tender age; He will reward their 
filial piety by restoring them a good father. 

Josephine .—That it may be as you say! 

Anna .—Poor children ! were it otherwise 
it would be a pity, they are so good, so ex¬ 
emplary in every way. 

Josephine .—How faithfully they perform 
their duty. 


FRATERNAL - PIETY. 


225 


Philip .—Every one should know their 
admirable behavior. 

Florestan .—What an advantage it would 
be to follow their example. 

Philip .—Dear Florestan, you do not speak 
for yourself and my sisters ; if I were not 
fearful of displeasing you (I know you do 
not like compliments), I would say that both 
you and Augustin are good examples of vir¬ 
tue : when our parents are sick, are you mot 
also full of attention and kindness, do you 
not render them all the services in your 
power ? 

Augustin .—Now, now, one would think 
you were not of the family, that you had no 
feeling, and that our father and mother have 
nothing to expect from you; neither assist¬ 
ance nor consolation. If I participate in 
your compliment, for indeed I should be 
very sorry to pass for an ingrate or a bad 
son, but if you exclude yourself— I withdraw. 

Philip. —Remain, on the contrary, and let 
us unite in thought and in action ; let us 
thank our parents and our teachers for all 
they have done to instruct us, and to strength¬ 
en us in the will to accomplish our duties. 


226 


FILIAL ANI> 


. Florestan .—I shall never forget the in¬ 
structions I heard some years ago, and which 
I now remember with pleasure, and with a 
sincere desire to put them in practice on every 
possible occasion. Not long since, our teach¬ 
er seriously reproved a boy of the class who 
had been reported to him. It appears, that 
in spite of the earnest request of his mother, 
he refused to go on an errand that was ur¬ 
gent, and he went to play in the neighbor¬ 
hood sooner than go to the druggist’s with a 
prescription left by the doctor for his sick 
father. The teacher took this disobedience 
•for a subject, which he developed, and he ex¬ 
plained the rigorous obligations which chil¬ 
dren have to fulfil towards their parents. 
Those obligations are not merely for a day, 
for a month, or for a year, but for a lifetime. 
It does not suffice to say we love our par¬ 
ents ; we must, moreover, show them proofs 
of our sincere love, by giving them bodily 
assistance But what are those wants ? pur¬ 
sued our teacher; in what do they consist ? 
They are of different kinds, and they vary 
according to time, circumstances, and posi¬ 
tions in life. But whatsoever be their wants, 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


m 

we must provide for them with love, de¬ 
votedness, and sincerity; otherwise we 
prove that we are not Christians—that we 
are not men. If our father or our mother 
be sick, we must care for them, and whatever 
we do for them during their sickness is 
naught in comparison to all'the pain, anx¬ 
iety, fatigues, and privations that they have 
endured for us. If they be poor, we must 
assist them as much as it is in our power. 
A child who can comfort his parents, who 
can solace their grief, is a cruel child if he 
allow them to pine away in misery. Every¬ 
body despises him, and they shun him with 
horror in society. If you do nqt wish, dear 
young friends, said the teacher, that the 
same thing happen you, when you go 
amongst your acquaintances, begin from this 
moment to assist your parents in their bodily 
wants, in their necessities, according to your 
age, and to your position. To go on an 
errand for them, is even assisting t^em \ it 
spares tneir time and saves them trouble. 
Remaining by them when they are sick, and 
rendering them many little services, is, in a 
degree, assuaging their suffering ; it contrib 


228 


FILIAL AND 


utes also to restore them to health ; it proves 
jour worthiness, and it draws down upon 
you the blessings of heaven. 

Anna .—The assistance we owe our par¬ 
ents must be a rigorous obligation, a duty 
of first importance, since in families, in 
schools, and in Christian churches, it is so 
expressly recommended. Have you not re¬ 
marked this? 

* Philip. —Yes, and I remember that about 
two or three months ago, I heard a subject 
explained, of which Augustin has not spoken, 
and which his teacher has not mentioned. 
It is upon the old age of parents. Can we 
believe that there are children so hard-heart¬ 
ed, so ungrateful, that they form striking 
subjects for books and for every-day gossip, 
by their cruel behavior towards their par¬ 
ents. Though those children witness years 
accumulating on the heads of their parents, 
rendering them unfit for v work, and weak 
and infirm, with tempers often sharpened 
by adversity, they abandon them, they con¬ 
sign them to some corner of the house, or 
they leave them in some solitary hovel, 
without help or consolation, sometimes a!- 


FRATERNAL FIETY. 


229 


lowing, but a mean pittance to keep them 
from starving, aiid even that with regret. 

Augustin .—And what is the result ? How 
often do we hear the consequences of such 
cruel behavior? The life of those unhappy 
parents is passed in grief, in agony, in pri¬ 
vations, and in cruel pain of mind, for those 
privations have not sufficiently weakened 
their mental faculties to prevent them from 
feeling all the weight of their woe. They 
complain of having children unworthy this 
name; they regret the love they have be¬ 
stowed on them, the care they have giv^n 
them; their tempers sharpen more and 
more; and oljfen their last words are a curse 
against those who thus leave them languish¬ 
ing in misery. What a misfortune! What 
a dreadful misfortune! for God’s curse fol¬ 
lows that of a father ! 

Josephine .—Unhappy parents! Unhappy 
children ! how guilty they are ! What re¬ 
morse of conscience poisons their existence ! 
And all this grief and scandal, all this suffer¬ 
ing, might have been avoided, and the ven¬ 
geance of Heaven would not have been their 
punishment. Had they but listened to the 
20 


230 


FILIAL AND 


voice of their heart; had they followed its 
just promptings when it said: It is your 
father and your mother who.suffer;” when it 
suggested what should be done; when it 
pointed out the accomplishment of duties 
which would have given them consolation 
instead of grief, for the remainder of their 
life on earth ; in a word, if they had accom¬ 
plished those duties, instead of incurring 
public indignation they would have merited 
the esteem ai?d the good will of honest 
people; instead of the malediction of their 
parents, they would have had their love and 
their gratitude; instead of God’s anger, his 
favor and his blessings. « 

Anna .—Let us confess, for the honor of 
humanity, that examples of hard-hearted¬ 
ness, abandonment, and ingratitude, such as 
those we have mentioned, are rare. It is fo 
the smaller number that these terrible words 
are said : “ How infamous is he who forsakes 
his father ; and cursed by God is - he who 
grieves his mother by refusing to care for 
her There are many children in all classes 
of society like Caroline and Joseph, of whom 
my sister spoke in the beginning of this 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


231 


conversation, who make heaven and earth 
rejoice by the love and the respect they show 
their parents. 

Philip .—I heard a narrative which con¬ 
firms this truth: An honest country wo¬ 
man, the mother of three children, had had 
the misfortune to lose her husband, who 
was hard-working and pious, but poor. 
Being a* widow and without resource, she 
fell into a lingering illness, which would 
have hastened her to her grave, had it not 
been for the admirable care of her three 
children. They hired themselves out to earn 
an existence for their mother, and they 
agreed between them that two of them 
should go out to work alternately with 
the third, who should remain home to care 
for the sick woman; but, so as to lose 
nothing of their small wages, they begged 
of the farmer two favors : The first was to 
begin work so early and to leave off so late 
that thev might make three days of two. 
The second was to be paid each night, so as 
to supply their mother with necessary food. 
He who had been on guard one day replaced 
the two workers the next day, and so on 


232 


FILIAL AND 


successively, one after the other they worked 
most laboriously, and exercised a heroic chari¬ 
ty towards their mother. How beautiful it 
was to see each of those virtuous children 
caring for their mother ; helping her to dress, 
carrying her, as it were, in * their arms, 
either near the fire or in the warm sunshine ; 
and every day their affection and their de¬ 
votedness increased. On their return, the 
two laborers hastened to their mother’s bed¬ 
side, and embraced her, and wiped away 
the tears that their tenderness caused to flow 
down her emaciated cheeks. Willingly 
would they have passed the night by her, 
if their work of the morrow did not oblige 
them to take rest. Thus, during three years, 
those admirable children were the edifica¬ 
tion of the parish and the delight of its pas¬ 
tor. About this time an increase of sick¬ 
ness threatened the life of this now happy 
mother. Then, full of solicitude for her 
spiritual welfare, the pious children did not 
neglect having the sacraments administered 
to her, whilst she was yet in the enjoy¬ 
ment of her faculties. Afterwards they ac¬ 
companied her to her last resting-place, and 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


* • 
233 

they wept over her grave with as much 
sorrow as though she had been indispensable 
to them. 

Josephine .—How edifying is this example, 
and how highly it condemns children who 
neglect their parents! 

Anna .—Let us endeavor to resemble 
them ; let us bestow upon our parents \ care, 
kindness, and affection. Our first reward 
will be an inward joy which is true happi¬ 
ness ; others will infallibly follow, because 
we must expect them from our own family, 
and from God, who has promised them 
to us. 

20 * 


V 


234 


FILIAL AND 


SPIRITUAL ASSISTANCE DUE TO PARENTS. 

CHAPTEK I. 

A CHILD MUST PRAY FOR HIS PARENTS. 

A truly Christian-like child is not merely 
sensible to the wants or to the corporeal suf¬ 
ferings of his parents, but he is much more 
so to the infirmities of their souls. They do 
•not manifest their spiritual troubles, they 
do not appeal to his heart, but his faith en¬ 
lightens him therein ; she points out to him 
the dangers which surround them, but which 
they do not acknowledge. Aided then by 
faith, he prostrates'himself in the presence 
of his sovereign Master, and he prays. 

Each day he bows before the goodness of 
the Almighty, to whom he confides the 
spiritual welfare of a tender mother, of a 
good father, or of the parents of others whom 
lie loves and honors. He has confidence in the 
infinite mercy of God ; he knows that He loves 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


235 


to hear the prayers of the faithful, to be im¬ 
plored, to be importuned ; he knows that He 
hears those prayers and that He grants abun¬ 
dant blessings. 

The good son who really loves his parents, 
who hopes to lead them in the path of virtue, 
whence they have, perhaps, strayed, sub¬ 
joins good example to prayer; thus he be¬ 
comes a child of God by saving souls, which 
otherwise were lost. It is thus that good 
behavior and piety bring their own fruit, the 
sweet odor of which is diffused amongst all 
those who mingle with you. 

• 

THE SON OF A GENDARME; 

A Parisian youth, pupil of the Brothers 
of the Christian Schools, and son of a gen¬ 
darme, had the happiness to receive his first 
communion with a fervor that edified all his 
companions and his own family. He perse¬ 
vered in the fulfilment of virtues which all 
Christians, who obey God and the Church, 
are wont to fulfil. His father, who bravely 
served his country, but who forgot in part. 
his duties towards God, was so struck* with 
his son’s good behavior that he was resolved 


236 FILIAL AND 

to follow his example. When somebody 
expressed their surprise at so sudden a 
change, he said, “ My son gives me good 
example, Should I not give it to him ?” 

If children knew to what degree religion 
renders them interesting and amiable, and 
what influence it gives them in the midst 
of their family, they would firmly persevere 
in their good resolutions; they would be the 
instigators of peace, love, and charity ; in a 
word, they would be the cause of the salva¬ 
tion of their parents. 

CHAPTER II. # 

A CHILD MUST PROCURE SPIRITUAL ASSIST¬ 
ANCE FOR HIS PARENTS. 

It is, above all, when a member of his 
family is sick, that a good son should re¬ 
double'assiduity; he should spare nothing 
to afford him corporeal relief, in order to 
prolong a life so dear to him. But if he see 
that death advances, and is about separating 
him from a dear mother or a good father, 
then he should procure spiritual assistance 
Weighed down by sickness, our parents are 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


237 


not in a state of mind to realize that 
their end is nigh, or to think of the sacra¬ 
ments which* open the gates of heaven 
for us. Oh! then, a son who is animated 
with charity, will find means to exhort them 
-to hope in God ; he will tell them of his 
goodness, of his mercy ; he^, will speak to 
them of a life to come ; he brings to their bed¬ 
side the ministers of the Lord, who prepare 
them for the passage from life .to eternity. * 

Alas! there are some unhappy children, 
who, animated by I know not what kind of 
timidity, or by a wanton human respect, or 
perhaps by* a cruel tenderness, or by a mere 
earthly love, dissimulate the danger, because 
they do not wish to alarm the dying persons; 
and they allow them to jlie without, recon¬ 
ciliation and without sacraments; they are 
loath to alarm their expiring parents, yet 
they do not fear to have them damned. Oh 
blindness! oh cruelty ! Wretched children, 
is it thus you have given spiritual assistance 
to those who have given you life ? 

The last words of a dying father to his 
children, are generally the most efficacious; 
they are, as it were, the seal of the virtuous 


238 


FILIAL AND 


education which he has given them during 
his lifetime. With what profound respect 
they should be received ! A well-disposed 
child will engrave them in his heart and in 
his mind; they are the rule of his conduct. 
He repeats them to his own children, and in 
his instructions to them, he exclaims, in a 
transport of gentle remembrance, “ Those are 
the words of my dying father.” They are an 
honorable tradition,which expands and devel¬ 
ops virtues from generation to generation. 

There remains another duty which a good 
son should perform : When his parents have 
closed their eyes in death, when, he has 
wept over their mortal remains, he should 
punctually and scrupulously execute their 
last will ; he should bury them in a manner 
befitting their position in life, avoiding, on 
the one hand, an avarice which evinces a 
want of love and respect for his parents, and 
on the other hand a pompous display that 
betrays a wanton pride. As he loves his 
•parents, and as he is well aware that those 
who have not entirely atoned for their sins 
are detained in the expiatory flames of pur¬ 
gatory, to satisfy divine justice, he must not 


fraternal piety. 


239 


forget offering up prayers in tlieir behalf, and 
having masses said for the repose of their 
souls. 

Who knows—perhaps he is the cause of 
their being detained to atone for sins com¬ 
mitted through their indulgence, and their 
love for him. 

Such should be the behavior of a son en¬ 
lightened by faith, and whose heart is ani¬ 
mated with true filial piety. 

ANNIVERSARY. 

It is ten years ago, and I behold the hour 
When, alas! on earth my father was no*more. 

The clock strikes ; I listen. Oh regret! oh sadness! 

At this desolate hour I was left fatherless. 

With low accents they kept me from his dying bed, 
They said he was sleeping—and bitter tears I shed. 
But the village church-bell tolled on Boreas’ breath 
The sorrowful tale of a beloved father’s death; 

To the innermost recess of my soul it loud rung, 

And I wept o’er and o’er to follow him soon. 

All objects around me of his presence did speak; 

At his side in the evening my place I would seek; 
But I lingered in vain for his tender caress, 

For the welcome good night, and the paternal kiss. 

I saw at night his form so dear 
Over me bend, then disappear. 


/ 


240 FILIAL AND 

I wept all day long, and despite my kind mother, 

Ten years have effaced not the thoughts of my father. 
The sear leaves of Autumn from the trees drop again, 
Yet memory his image doth fondly retain ; 

And to the same spot, where with gladness he’d lin¬ 
ger, 

I’ll stray my lone footsteps to find him no longer. 
Then to the borders of the Seine 
His resting-place I’ll seek again; 

And with a flower, wild but fair, 

His honored grave adorn there ; 

Shed a tear of recollection, 

Sing once more my lamentation. 

Millevaye , (free translation.) 

THE EFFECTS OF A FATHER’S EXAMPLE. 

A virtuous lady had a son whom she edu¬ 
cated with the greatest care ; God blessed her 
endeavors, and her son’s piety soon equalled 
her own. The day came on which he was 
to receive his first communion. With an¬ 
gelic mien he advanced towards the altar ; 
the joy of heaven was impressed on his pure 
brow, and tears of happiness dropped from 
his eyes. Since this memorable day he 
made rapid progress in the way of virtue. 
But at the age of seventeen his piety began 
to relax, and he no longer frequented the 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


241 


sacraments. His good mother noticed the 
change, and she felt anxious. She watched 
him, she studied his movements, but all in 
vain : he neither resorted to bad company, nor 
had he vicious inclinations, nor did he read 
bad books. Wounded to the heart, his moth¬ 
er one day entered his room, and there sob¬ 
bing bitterly she implored him to tell her 
the cause of his being changed. 

“ Why, mother,” said the astonished youth, 
“ you are causelessly alarmed ; I am ever 
the same, I love you as tenderly as before.” 

“ My son,” answered she, as she continued 
to weep, “ you feign to not understand me; I 
do not complain of your affection towards 
me, but is God satisfied with you ? Ah ! I 
implore you, say why are you changed ?” 

. “ Why, mother—” 

“ My son, .you cannot deceive me; and in 
the name of my love and of yours, confide 
to me the secret of your heart.” 

The young man cast down his head and 
was silent. She implored him anew; then 
moved at her entreaties he said: 

“ Since you wish it, mother, I shall con¬ 
ceal from you nothing. I confess that by 
21 


242 


FILIAL AND 


your gentle instructions, by your good ex¬ 
ample, I learned to love religion, and I prac¬ 
tised its precepts openly and with sincere 
delight. Ah! I was happy at the time of 
my first communion, and for years after; but 
since I have meditated. Oh, dear mother, I 
love you as ever, but you are no longer my 
model. I must follow my father’s example. 
He is honored and esteemed, and every one 
seeks his society: I wish to resemble him. 
And I know that my father does not prac¬ 
tise religion as you do. Perhaps he would 
not have the same consideration for me if— 
Besides, my father is enlightened, and be is 
incapable of acting contrary to his conscience. 
This is why I wish to become like him, with¬ 
out, however, incurring your displeasure.” 

41 Ah! my son.” exclaimed the mother, 
44 what a revelation !” 

After this conversation she repaired to 
her husband’s apartment; there she mani¬ 
fested her heart’s sorrow by loud cries and 
sobs. He sought to calm her and to know 
the cause of her grief, but all she could say 
was: 44 Ah ! sir, your son !” and she fainted 
in his arms. With prompt help she revived, 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


243 


and she related the scene which took place. 
The father was amazed to tears, and he 
cried: * 

“Dear wife, where is.my son ?” 

“ He is yet in his room — come, follow 
me and they both entered the young man’s 
apartment. The father paused at the door 
and said: 

“ Oh my son ! how painful it is for a father 
to accuse himself in his son’s presence. But 
I am guilty; your mother has told me all. 
False shame has prevented me from conform¬ 
ing my conduct to my belief. Alas! I did 
not reflect that my example would have 
proved so pernicious, but, my son, it is not 
too late. You have led me back to virtue 
and to religion ; you have enlightened me, and 
given me courage—become what you for¬ 
merly were. Embrace and pardon me. 
Who is your spiritual father? he shall also 
be mine. Let us both confess, you your 
weakness, I my crime.” 

Henceforth their piety was unshaken. 


244 


FILIAL AND 


OTHER EXAMPLES.—IF MY POOR MOTHER KNEW 

Some years ago, says Father Hoffman, in 
the week which follows the Easter-liolidays, 
I was called upon by a handsome-looking 
officer. Without giving himself time to sa¬ 
lute me, he said in an abrupt, military tone : 

“Father, I come to do my Easter duty.” 

I looked at him earnestly, and I saw tears 
glistening in his eyes, which were already 
red with weeping. We agreed upoft the 
time and the place when and where he 
would find me. The next day he was punc¬ 
tual to the engagement, and the following 
day he received Holy Communion with a 
fervor which created some sensation in the 
congregation. A few days afterwards he 
came to the presbytery, and he told me he 
had but two years longer to remain in the 
regiment, and he wished to know if, for the 
salvation of his soul, he would not do well to 
leave the army. This question required a 
little reflection ; and to be enlightened upon 
the subject I begged of him to simply ex¬ 
plain, as to a comrade, the reason whereby 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


245 


he had arrived at so prompt a resolution. 
Without any hesitation he said : 

“ It is through the Virgin Mary ! Yes,” 
repeated he, “ it is through her ! and listen 
in what way. My parents are good, my 
mother in particular. She loves me so ! how 
she wept when I left her. ‘ Then she took 
me apart, and said : ‘John, you are going 
away ; but do not forget your religion. I 
shall pray for you, and in order that you will 
each day think of God, the Virgin, and your 
mother, promise me herp that you will never 
lie down before saying the beautiful prayer 
to the Virgin which I taught you in your 
childhood, and that we repeat amongst us 
every day.’ I cheerfully acquiesced in her 
wish. This was five vears ago ; during this 
space of time I have not once broken my 
word ; even though I w^ould return home at 
night, dissipated, fatigued, and inebriated, 
nevertheless I could not have slept if I had 
not said it. You may suppose, father, the 
life I led. Ah hif my poor mother knew it. 

“ Weak and credulous, I was influenced by 
bad example; I felt that I became worse 
everv day, and I was dissatisfied with mv- 


246 


FILIAL AND 


self; I thought-of ray mother, and of our 
evening prayers ; I reproached myself for 
having neglected my duty, and yet I had 
not courage to change. But lately—it was 
Palm-Sunday—I was busy preparing ray 
horse for the manoeuvring of the troops, 
when I heard the last sound of the bell for 
high mass. How it affected me! I cried with 
anger and repentance; I was nigh uttering 
my thoughts aloud. Oh ! thought I, if I 
were like so many other good Christians, I 
could do my Easter $ duty, but I am unwor¬ 
thy. I dropped a few tears, then I said : 
Well, I shall not live this life, I shall do my 
Easter duty—no one can oppose me! From 
this moment my resolution was firm, and 
my mother’s prayer moved me so that I 
Could not repeat it . 7 I had but one anxiety, 
my Easter duty. To prepare myself therefor, 
I began by shunning bad company ; I saved 
my cents to buy a prayer-book and beads, 
which for years I had not numbered.” 

O salutary and gentle influence of mater¬ 
nal love! The worthy soldier said : 

‘ x I shall come and see you again ; I wish 
return to my parents as I left them, so as 


FRATERNAL *PIETY. 


247 


I need not blush when I see my mother.” 
And he received the sacrament a second 
time. He returned to bid me farewell. I 
embraced him, and I gave him, as a souve¬ 
nir, a-little medal of the Holy Virgin, and I 
said: 

“ Do not forget that it was through 
Mary !” 

“ Oh, no,” said he, u I shall neither forget 
you, nor the Virgin, nor my mother, who 
prayed so constantly for me. And through 
gratitude, I shall redouble zeal and fervor, 
so that God may open for her the gates of 
heaven, when He will deem it time to call 
her to him; this is what I shall promise my 
mother in a few days, when I shall embrace 
her with tender affection.” 

THE PALSIED MAN AND HIS DAUGHTER* 

Of all the duties we have to'fulfil towards 
our parents, there is not one more important 
than that of assisting them in their immedi¬ 
ate wants. The old age',' the infirmities, and 
the poverty of our parents, exact from a son 
or a daughter, kind care in health or in sick¬ 
ness, and by so doing, they manifest their 


248 


FILIAL AND 


obedience, their respect, their fervent piety, 
their true, sincere, and disinterested love. 

One day in the course of my travels, my 
carriage stopped before a dwelling, the win- 
d / v-panes of which were sufficiently large 
and clear to enable me to see what was going 
on inside. 

There was an old, palsied man, and a girl, 
whose countenance was calm, and whose fig¬ 
ure was slim. By her free and easy manners 
1 knew her to be the daughter of the sexa¬ 
genarian, who contemplated her with deep 
gratitude, as he moved with difficulty to 
press her hand within his. Then the daugh¬ 
ter leartdfl over him affectionately, raised his 
fi gers to her lips, and kissed them ; she 
looked at him a few seconds with tender 
compassion, then she sat down at a table, on 
wlffeh there was a book, from the size of 
which, I supposed to be the dying man’s 
hope. 

By the motion of her lips, and by her 
measured breathing, I concluded she was 
reading to the venerable old man. I sought 
—yes, I sought to participate therein, by the 
expression of her countenance, which, by 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


249 


degrees, grew more and more animated, 
while both, by a mutual sympathy, cast their* 
eyes upwards, and contemplated each other 
in silence. Could I but describe the ineffa¬ 
ble happiness of those two pure souls, and 
the profound impression it made on my sen¬ 
ses ! All the sentiments of a noble nature, 
nurtured by the maxims of the Holy Gospel, 
were united in the old man’s eyes—char¬ 
acterized by gratitude ; those of the daugh¬ 
ter expressed the tender emotions awoke by 
filial devotion. Oh! what passage was it 
that enveloped those two Christian souls in 
mysterious delight ? Ah! yes, undoubtedly 
it was the promise of the Eternal to those 
who suffer in this life, with patience and res¬ 
ignation, the sufferings of cruel maladies, or 
the reward promised to children, whose pre¬ 
cious and attentive care prolongs the life of 
a father, who by a pure and honest existence 
merits their consolation. 

Meanwhile, the horses of my carriage 
were harnessed; they bore me away, and 
when I arrived home, I had still before my 
eyes those two amiable beings, whose virtue 
was so profoundly impressed on my memory. 


250 


FILIAL AND 


THE SEDAN CHAIR. 

It is in their old age, and particularly 
when they are feeble and infirm, that our 
parents merit our assistance, and that we 
ought to redouble zeal and affection for 
them. 

•A poor, infirm and suffering widow had 
been for a long time deprived of the pure 
pleasure of participating in public worship, 
which was a want of her pious soul. 

When Sunday w r ould come, she often 
would say to her two sons : “How happy 
I should be if I w T ere to go to church ; but 
I’m too weak and infirm, and the distance 
is too great from here to the village, to go on 
foot.” 

This thought saddened the poor old wo¬ 
man' who knew the great benefits one reaps 
from those religious meetings. Her two 
sons, whom she had brought up in the fear 
of God, contrived a plan to satisfy her pious 
desire. They adjusted two pieces of board 
to an arm-chair, and they made a kind of se¬ 
dan chair, in which they placed their moth¬ 
er, and they carried her to the church, which 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


251 


was at a mile’s distance, for they lived in an 
isolated farm, on the declivity of a hill. All 
the people present were moved at the piety * 
of the mother, and at the devotedness of her 
sons. Flowers were scattered on their way, 
and they seemed the emblems of the favors 
which God showered down upon this inter¬ 
esting family. 

Sincere piety i& the most eminent of vir¬ 
tues, and it is also the source of true happi¬ 
ness. 

By inclining children to piety, parents lead 
them in the path of wisdom, and children 
show themselves grateful in return. 

HUMAN FLESH—A REMEDY. 

A man who has enriched himself by dint 
of deceiving others, may sometimes be ap- ( 
plauded for having been a keen business¬ 
man (as they say), but there will come a mo¬ 
ment when he will suffer for it (apart from 
the pain of eternity which awaits him), if he 
will not restore the value of ill-gotten goods. 

A wealthy' man, whom, for charity 6ake, 

I shall not mention, fell dangerously ill. 

22 


252 


FILIAL AND 


It was at the end of the last century. Mor¬ 
tification had set into his wounds, and death 
was inevitable. All his fortune had been 
unjustly acquired, and by the most palpable 
extortions; however, he would not hear 
speak of restitution, under pretext that his 
children would be reduced to beggary. This 
was told to a learned and pious clergyman, 
who said to a friend : 

“ Go tell him I have a remedy to cure his 
disease, and I’m sure he will ask to see me.” 

Indeed, no sooner had he heard that a 
priest had an infallible remedy, than he sent 
for him. 

“ Sir,” said he, “ they say you can give 
me a remedy for my malady.” 

“ True, I have said so; and this cure is 
infallible; it gives no pain, and it is very 
simple, but it costs very dear.” 

“No matter, were it to cost ten thousand 
francs I shall try it; what is it ?” 

“Well, it suffices to melt over the cor¬ 
rupted wound, some of the flesh of a living 
person. A small quantity will do, so that 
for ten thousand francs you will find some 
one who will consent to allow his hand for 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


253 


instance, to be burned during a quarter of 
an hour.” 

“ Alas, sir, I fear I shall find no one who 
will consent at that price.” 

“ Well then, here, perhaps, is a means 
which may prove effectual. You have 
three sons who love you exceedingly; call 
the eldest to your bedside, and say to him : 
‘ My son, I know your affection for me; 
for this reason, I make you heir to all I 
possess, if you consent, however, to give me 
one last mark of this affection. It is to 
allow your left hand to burn for a quarter 
of an hour, so as the grease which will drop 
from it may cure the corruption of my 
wounds.’ If he refuse you this mark of his 
love, propose the same thing to the second, 
and in case of refusal, to the third. As¬ 
suredly, one of the three will consent, in 
order that he inherit your wealth, and that 
he be not reduced to misery.” 

The sick man followed this wise counsel, 
and each one of his sons was asked this 
favor, but alas ! none of them would consent. 
The}" could not even help saying to each 
other; “Row strange of our father to ask such 


254 


FILIAL AND 


a thing .” Then the shrewd clergyman, re¬ 
maining alone with the dying man,said to him 
with fervor and eloquence : “What, sir, w^ould 
you not be very foolish to consent to en¬ 
dure the fire of hell during an eternity to 
enrich children who will not allow one of 
their hands to burn for a quarter of an 
hour for love of you ? Agree with me that 
it would be a folly, at which, indeed, they 
would be the first to laugh.” 

“ You are right, sir; I confess I had not 
reflected upon this matter, do not, therefore 
depart before I have confessed myself, and 
until I have taken measures to make ample 
reparation for all the frauds of which I am 
guilty.” 

He acted accordingly, my dear children, 
and died in the grace of God.— Lassausse. 

A PIOUS LITTLE GIRL REWARDED. 

A father was dangerously ill. He had 
a little girl of eight years, who had profited 
by the instructions she had received at 
Catechism. Being alone with her father, 
she said to him : “ Papa, papa, you are 
very ill; the doctor said that perhaps you 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


255 


might die to-morrow. Mamma is in her 
room, crying, and they are trying to console 
her. I heard it said at instruction that it was 
a great sin to let a person die without con¬ 
fession. Nobody dares to ask you to confess 
yourself.” 

“ Thank you, my child; go directly and 
call for the priest. God will bless you; I 
owe you my salvation.” 

The parish priest came and administered 
the last sacraments, and the next day he ex¬ 
pired. Before he died, he frequently said : 
“ Were it not for my little one, for my dear 
child, what should have been my end ?” 

THE LAST FAREWELL. 

“ In the course of the year 1824,” relates 
a worthy clergyman, “ I was called upon to 
attend a young lady who was affected with 
the king’s evil. She was living with her 
mother, who was about fifty years of age 
Having heard that she was not a pious 
woman, I spoke to her several times upon 
religious matters, but always uselessly. She 
soon avoided my presence, and she retired 
to her room when I entered the house 


256 


FILIAL AND 


However, the sick girl seeing her death 
draw near, manifested great resignation, 
and was nowise excited. Death, of which 
she often spoke, seemed to have no bitter¬ 
ness for her. One day that I had heard her 
confession, and being on the point of retiring, 
she begged me to have her mother called to 
her, and to remain there myself. Her 
mother eame, and she was surprised to see 
her daughter in tears. It was not her habit, 
for she was generally very cheerful in spite 
of her sufferings. 4 Why do you weep, dear 
child ? are ^ou losing courage after being 
so patient ? 

“ ‘ Ho mother, no, but to-day, -I must bid 
you farewell. Oh ! how painful it is.’ 

“ ‘ Are you then no longer resigned V 

“ ‘ Alas !’ said she, ‘ our farewell must be 
forever.’ 

“ ‘ What say you, my dear daughter ? Ho, 
no.’ 

“‘Oh! yes, mother, forever.; for you and 
I do not follow in the same path; whilst I 
frequent the sacraments, I act according to 
the rules of our holy religion, and I expect 
the happiness that it promises us ; but you, 


FKATERNAL PIETY. 


257 


poor mother, you are straying from the right 
way, and thus we shall never meet hereafter.’ 

44 Those words were uttered in a loud voice, 
which bespoke the sick girl’s agitation. I 
thus became witness of a scene which I did 
not expect to see. The mother’s counte¬ 
nance changed and she was moved. Then 
the dying girl, summoning all her strength, 
rested her head upon her hand and said : 
4 Farewell, mother dear, I shall see you no 
more; we shall be separated for ever; yes, for 
ever !’ On hearing those words, the mother 
fainted away. Having revived a little, she 
approached the bedside: 4 Ho, my daughter,’ 
said she, whilst she shed abundant tears, 
4 we shall not be separated ! be solaced, my 
child; I have been your mother, you have 
now become mine. I shall confess myself, 
and henceforth be a good Catholic in belief, 
and in practice.’ 4 Sir,’ added she, as she 
turned towards me, 4 will you hear me to¬ 
day ? I owe this consolation to my child 
before she breathes her last; she must be a 
witness of my conversion.’ I appointed an 
hour in the evening, and she was faithful to 
her promise. This fortunate occurrence 
22 * 


258 


FILIAL AND 


completed the dying girl’s happiness, and 
she expired a few days afterwards, full 
of the thoughts of Heaven, where she had 
the hopes of meeting her dear mother.”— 
Guillois. 


HEROIC SACRIFICE. 

Hot far from Yalognes, department of the 
Manehe, is situated the vast and ancient 
castle of Etienviile, belonging to M. Levail- 
lant de Folleville. The eldest son of M. de 
Folleville turned his thoughts from the 
world at the tomb of the pious Louise de 
Garaby, baroness of Organde. lie became 
a model of edification in the schools and in 
the seminary, and, having become a priest, 
he went to Paris to signalize his zeal there. 
He was charitable to every one, and particu¬ 
larly to the poor and to the working classes. 
Whilst he was vicar of one of the principal 
parishes of the capital, and in the midst of 
his pious labors, they brought him a letter 
on which was the stamp of his native place. 
It was his mother’s writing, and it spoke of 
the typhus fever which decimated the popu¬ 
lation of that part of the country. This 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 259 

dreadful malady had spread into the neigh¬ 
borhood of Etienville, in the farms, in the 
manor. There remained to care for the 
sick but M. de Folleville and an aged ser¬ 
vant. All others were prostrated on a 
dying bed. Knowing the courage and . the 
goodness of her son, the countess begged of 
him to come to her assistance. And Abbe 
Levaillant was soon in the presence of his 
dying father. What an agonizing sight for 
a tender son! M. de Folleville is at the 
last extremity, and in his delirium he calls 
for his son, who is near him and whom he 
does not know. To complete the good 
priest’s grief, the other members of his family 
are in the same alarming condition. 

Then listening but to the voice of his tender¬ 
ness, he exclaimed : “ O God ! my services 
here are of no avail; if the sacrifice of my 
life can save so many victims, and above all 
my father, spare him to my mother, and to 
my brothers and sisters who are yet so 
young; accept my offer and I shall die 
happy. The fatigues of a speedy journey, 
anxiety, the sight of so much suffering, had 
predisposed this generous priest to sickness. 


260 


FILIAL AND 


Madame de Folleville took notice of this, 
and she advised him to take rest. But his 
illness increased whilst all the others grew 
better, and entered in convalescence. All 
the care bestowed on Abbe Levaillant seem¬ 
ed in vain, and during a few moments 
lucidity they administered to him the last 
sacraments, which he received with the fer¬ 
vor of an angel. He learned that his father 
was out of danger, and that the others were 
better. A heavenly smile told his satisfac¬ 
tion. He died thanking God. for having 
heard his prayers. 

A Paris, Levaillant sonlageait la misere: 

Par sa mere appele pour combattre lefleau, 

Dans lalutte il perit. G-ravons sur son tombeau 
Du bon pretre la fin: Mort en sauvant son p&re.’ 

I? Abbe de Garaby , Ange Gardien. 

THE HONORED TOMB. 

A peasant was coiiiplaining to the youth¬ 
ful Anacharsis and to the companions of his 
travels, of the inundations which sometimes 
carried away his crops. 

“We asked him,” relate the travellers, 
“ why he had not taken up his abode in a 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


261 


canton where such accidents were not likely 
to happen ?” 

“ I have often been proposed very favor¬ 
able exchanges,” answered he, “ but you 
shall learn the reason whereby I have re¬ 
fused them.” 

Hereupon he opened the door of an en¬ 
closure, where we saw a green sod, encom¬ 
passed by cypress-trees. 

“ There is the tomb of my family ;” said 
he, “ where those poppies grow, my father’s 
and my mother’s grave was made; some¬ 
times I come and converse with them. I 
fancy I see them,—I hear. them ; no, I shall 
never forsake this sacred spot. My son,” 
said he then, to a youth who followed him, 
u after my death, you will place me with 
the remains of my parents, and when you 
will have the misfortune to lose your moth¬ 
er, you will place her also by me; remem¬ 
ber this.” 

His son promised to do as he said, and he 
shed abundant tears. 


262 


FILIAL AND 


DIALOGUE 

ON 

THE. SPIRITUAL ASSISTANCE WHICH CHIL¬ 
DREN OWE TO THEIR PARENTS. 

Persons represented. — Josephine, Anna, Florestan, 
Augustin, Philip, brothers and sisters. 

Florestan .—These two days you have 1 not 
spoken of Mr. Belleville ; however, you have 
been to see his children, and it is for this 
reason I suppose, we have not seen you. 
Well, tell us now how the good gentleman is % 
is his health better ? 

Josephine .—Much better ; Madame Belle¬ 
ville is delighted, her children are overjoyed, 
and it is one continual thanksgiving to God. 
To-day, the doctors have declared Mr. Belle¬ 
ville out of danger, and that his convales¬ 
cence would not be long. Now, said they, 
we have no doubt that this worthy father 
will be spared to his dear children. 

Florestan. — Ah ! ah ! the doctors have 
declared that to-day ! how strange! I al¬ 
most fancy myself as good a doctor as they, 
without, however, having obtained my di- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


263 


ploma. Yes, indeed ; do you remember that 
seven or eight days ago, I declared the same 
thing ? 

Philip. —Yes, yes, we remember it. 

Florestan .—How strange if I were to be 
a doctor by instinct. 

Augustin .—I don’t affirm its possibility, 
but one of our poets quotes an example or 
two of the same. 

Florestan. — Then I would increase the 
number of natural doctors. 

Anna. —Meanwhile, let us rejoice over the 
unexpected recovery of the father of our in¬ 
timate friends. 

Augustin. —Yes, unexpected. Many per¬ 
sons thought his recovery impossible, but, 
don’t you see, dear sister, it is all very well 
for men to be skilful and clear-sighted, to 
pronounce or to give their opinion on life or 
death, with the authority of their experience 
and of their learning. When God wills it, 
he can save; his power and his goodness pro¬ 
tect in the midst of danger. 

Josephine .—However it may be, his sick¬ 
ness, which has caused so much cruel anxiety, 
has given evidence of Joseph’s and Caro- 


264 


FILIAL AND 


line’s good nature, which hitherto was only 
known to the members of this respected fam- 

ily- 

Anna. — This is very true, and every 
one will acknowledge the devotedness, the 
zeal and the care which they manifested to 
the sick man. 

Philip .—Their present behavior augurs 
favorably for their future manner of acting 
towards their parents, in whatever circum¬ 
stances they may find themselves. Of course, 
they are now well-off, but who can tell the 
future ? Reverses of fortune, unforeseen ac¬ 
cidents, catastrophes, may put them on a 
level with the unfortunate: it is a supposi¬ 
tion which I hope may not be realized, but 
which is justified by every day’s experience. 
Nevertheless, were they to be reduced to 
poverty, I am sure that their children, such 
as they are,would readily and generously give 
them proofs of their affection. They would 
give them all the assistance in their power, 
and this would continue even in their ex¬ 
treme old age,—in infirmities and sufferings, 
which are inseparable from old age. Such 
are my sentiments. What are yours ? 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


265 


Augustin .—Our sentiments ? yon know 
they agree with yours. 

Philip. — And you, Josephine, you are 
silent. 

Josephine .—Ah ! I was reflecting. 

Philip .—And what is the cause of your 
reflections ? 

Josephine .—Here it is ; I am not only sure 
that Joseph and Caroline would accomplish, 
without hesitating, all that you have men¬ 
tioned, but they would do much more. 

PloreGtan .—How ? What more could he 
do, who gives and sacrifices all he has for 
his parents ? 

Josephine .—I agree with you upon all that 
regards corporeal help, hut with the senti¬ 
ments of faith and of sincere piety which 
characterize our young friends, they would 
do more. If our parents have a right to our 
assistance in their infirmities and in their 
sufferings, in a word, in whatever regards 
corporeal life, d.o you suppose that Joseph 
and his sister would not show them much 
more readiness in procuring them the spir¬ 
itual help necessary to all Christians ? 

Augustin .—That is very right. Man is 


266 


FILIAL AND 


composed of a soul and a body ; if he take 
care of the body, should he neglect his soul ? 
The soul is immortal, and destined to return 
to God, but it cannot enter heaven if it be 
not purified of all earthly stains. 

Anna .—I perfectly understand my dear 
Josephine’s meaning. All men, whosoever 
they be, are in want of spiritual help, and 
are under the obligation of procuring it re¬ 
ciprocally ; the poor as well as the rich, the 
enlightened as well as the ignorant, fathers 
and mothers as well as their children. And 
if we are under this obligation towards our 
fellow-beings in general, how much greater 
must it be towards those who have given us 
life ? 

Florestan .—But in what does this spirit¬ 
ual assistance consist, and how must it be 
given ? This is what I do not very well un¬ 
derstand ; I should be embarrassed had I to 
say how I should assist my parents in their 
spiritual welfare. 

Philip .—This embarrassment, my dear, is 
occasioned by your being young, and not 
having reflected on the duty which is the 
subject of our conversation, and which, with- 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 267 

out knowing it, you perform every day, and 
even many times a day. 

Florestan .—Do you pretend to say that 
you know better than I do, what I think 
through the day ? 

Philip. — Certainly ; and to prove it, I 
have but one word to say; do you not, in 
your morning and evening prayers, at mass, 
or at any other hour you go to church, do you 
not invoke favors of God for our dear parents ? 
Do you not pray Him to shower down upon 
them His graces and His gifts, to prolong 
their existence, to reward them for benefits 
wherewith they load us unceasingly, and 
to*admit them at the end of their career into 
His eternal glory ? 

Florestan. —Oh, yes, oh, yes, brother; I 
do all that ; it seems so natural, so just, that 
I think it could not be otherwise. If I did 
not act accordingly, I think I should be looked 
upon as a bad and ungrateful son, unworthy 
the blessings of God, and the favors of our 
dear parents. 

Philip. —Well, those prayers to Heaven, 
said fervently, and with a sincere desire to 
be heard, those wishes of your heart are pre- 


268 


FILIAL AND 


cisely a spiritual assistance, and God is 
pleased to hear them, when they come from 
a sincere, pure, and innocent heart. 

Florestan .—Right well, brother ; thanks 
to your explanation, I now understand per¬ 
fectly well. Ah ! henceforth, I shall be more 
assiduous and more fervent in my prayers. 
I love my father and my mother, and I have 
a sincere desire to see them happy. 

Josephine. — Permit me to add, Philip, 
that this spiritual help which we owe to our 
fellow-beings in general, as to our parents, 
is not limited to prayers in their behalf. 
When they are infirm with age,—in serious 
sickness, which may be their last, then we 
should be attentive and devoted, and in their 
passage from this life to the next, procure 
them the last consolations of religion,—the 
sacraments of the church. How many par¬ 
ents owe their salvation to the kind vigilance 
with which children have accomplished this 
duty. You understand" that I speak in a 
general way, and I do not allude to our own 
family; our parents are so exact in the ac¬ 
complishment of all that the church com¬ 
mands to the faithful,—that the duty we 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


269 


have to fulfil in their behalf at the last hour, 
will be extremely easy. 

Anna .—I shall not gainsay you, sister; 
your feelings agree with mine ; nevertheless, 
I shall remark, that it may happen to the 
most exact, and to the most pious, to require 
in their illness, which may prove fatal, the 
watchfulness of those around them. When 
one is overwhelmed by pain and suffering, 
when the mind has lost its lucidity, when 
sometimes even the one holds out illusive 
hopes on their condition, then should filial 
piety show its zeal; how reprehensible a 
person would be to fear to alarm by speaking 
of the last sacraments, and though, this fear 
were founded, it should be overcome with 
courage and generosity, conforming one’s self 
also to the rules of prudence and charity. 

Josephine .—The more so, indeed, because 
it concerns the last and most important af¬ 
fair ; the voice of a child who comprehends 
his duty, becomes at the hour of death, sol¬ 
emn and decisive, and it may save a soul to 
heaven. 

Philip .—When a child has had the mis¬ 
fortune to lose his father or his mother, or 
23 * 


270 


FILIAL AND 


both successively, he finds, at least, a great 
alleviation to his troubles, and precious con¬ 
solation, when he thinks that they died in 
the grace of God, and that they have ex¬ 
changed the misery and the sorrows of this 
life for the joys and the possessions of a bet¬ 
ter world. 

Florestan .—How agonizing for us is the 
thought of a father or a mother leaving this 
world without the assistance of religion; 
what regret, what remorse for the child, who 
has neglected it through his fault! and if he 
be uncertain of their eternal salvation, it is 
because he has resisted the prescriptions of 
the Church, which commands us to speak 
without reserve, without fear, and with a 
holy courage. Gratitude, nature, faith, God 
has placed me as a sentinel at the bedside of 
the dying person, and I have not done my 
duty; I have not spoken at the moment of 
peril; and if a soul dear to me be lost for 
ever, it will never see God through my fault, 
through my carelessness, my pusillanimity, 
through a false tenderness. 

Augustin .—What a misfortune ! what a 
dreadful misfortune to be a cause that a soul 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


271 


is lost to heaven. Is it thus we reward so 
much care, so many sacrifices, so much love, 
of which we w r ere the objects ? A son who 
merits this reproach, shows that he has an 
nihilated in his heart, the most sacred feel¬ 
ings of nature, that he has no faith, and that 
he is disobedient and rebellious to the voice 
of God. 

Anna .—Philip has just spoken of the ill- 
founded tenderness and the fear which si¬ 
lences children in the last hours of their par¬ 
ents’ life. They must know that the great¬ 
est mark of interest and love which they can 
show their parents, the surest testimony of 
their gratitude that parents can expect, is to 
reconcile them with God, and to enable them 
to obtain the kingdom of heaven. Why then 
should they fear, and under what considera¬ 
tion can they be silent? A consoling expe¬ 
rience teaches us that when we speak of God, 
of His mercy, of the necessity of confession 
to a sick person, we do not hasten their 
death, but on the contrary, it often happens 
that it cures his bodily health as well as that 
of the soul, by affording him quietude, peace 
and hope % 


272 


FILIAL AND 


Florestan. —Well, brothers and sisters, I 
am pleased with our conversation: it has 
enlightened me on many essential points, 
and I wish that all children, those in partic¬ 
ular whose notions are not distinct upon the 
spiritual assistance which we are obliged to 
procure for our parents, were in the possi¬ 
bility of now hearing you; if they ileglect 
those duties, or do not observe them at all, 
it often comes from their ignoring those es¬ 
sential points. Their illusions and their fears 
would be soon banished by the lesson you 
have developed. Let us ask of God to en¬ 
lighten them, to instruct them so as we shall 
see filial piety increase and strengthen, and 
produce in families the most consoling 
effects. 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


273 


CONCORD BETWEEN BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 
CHAPTER I. 

L—WE MUST LOVE OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS. 

Let us love our brothers and sisters; it is 
a natural feeling. After our father and our 
mother, none should be so dear to us as our 
brothers and sisters. The concord between 
children born under the same roof, and 
nursed at the same breast, gives life a mul¬ 
titude of charms. It is not necessary to 
prove to children, who are in ‘the slightest 
degree reasonable, that brothers should love 
one another ; it is an innate sentiment which 
fills the heart with pure emotion. Who in¬ 
deed would not be inclined to fulfil this 
duty ? The royal prophet compares this 
gentle virtue of fraternal love to a sweet fra¬ 
grance, to a dew that fertilizes the moun¬ 
tains. 

CATO OF UTICA. 

When Cato was but a child he was asked 
one day who was his best friend in the world. 


274 


FILIAL AND 


u My brother,” answered he. 

“Well, who is he who holds the second 
place in your heart ?” 

“ My brother.” 

“ And the third ?” 

“ It is also my brother.” 

Thus he answered, until they had ceased 
to question him. Time only served to in¬ 
crease this love for his brother. He never 
left him, he obeyed him in every way, he 
accompanied everywhere, and consulted him 
on important matters. At the age of twen¬ 
ty, he had not made a voyage, nor taken 
a meal from home, but when he had been 
in the company of his dear brother. Being 
in Asia, he heard that his brother had fallen 
dangerously ill at Thessajonia. The season 
was unfavorable for navigation, and the ves¬ 
sels were scarcely tit for use, nevertheless, he 
started off to see his brother once more. He 
arrived safe and sound, but found him expi¬ 
ring. Inconsolable at his loss, he was over¬ 
whelmed with grief, and he ordered a splen¬ 
did funeral to take place. He was on the 
point of leaving Thessalonia with the 
remains of his brother, when they advised 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


275 


him to have them removed on to another 
ship. 

“ I would sooner die,” said he, “ than sepa¬ 
rate from them.” 

2.—LET US LOVE OUR BROTHERS AND OUR SIS¬ 
TERS,—IT IS OUR INTEREST. 

Why is that happiness which is the fruit 
of brotherly love, unknown to some child¬ 
ren ? Because egotism hardens the heart, 
debases the soul, and prevents this concord 
which is the source of true felicity. And 
where will they find peace, if the feeling of 
fraternal love be banished from their hearts ? 
Thus do children become the enemies of their 
own peace. Oftentimes, a slight concession, 
a sacrifice would occasion the enjoyment of 
happiness, and sooner than undergo the 
smallest privation, they become a prey to 
hatred and discord. They prefer a piece of 
ground, a little gold, to the friendship of a 
brother, and they forget that the peace of 
mind it gives is worth all the possessions in 
the world. It is not bought with money, a 
fortune could not purchase it. All that is 


276 


FILIAL AND 


obtained at the price of fraternal love, is 
dearly bought. Alas ! how deplorable, how 
scandalous, to see brothers quarrel amongst 
themselves, abuse each other, persecute 
each other, and seek to strip one another of 
their fortune. What is more saddening than 
to see children who enjoy a large fortune, 
and leave their brothers and sisters in dis¬ 
tress, or blush on an account of their misery. 
No, a good-natured child cannot be happy, 
if his brothers do not love him, and he cannot 
enjoy himself if he see them weep in poverty. 

THE GENEROUS BROTHER. 

The son of a wealthy merchant in London 
had displeased his father to such a degree, 
by his disorderly conduct, that before he died, 
he disinherited him in favor of his elder 
brother. The young libertine having learn¬ 
ed this sad piece of intelligence, made it a 
subject of deep meditation, he owned his 
wrongs, and allowed that he had justly 
merited his father’s severity, and instead of 
complaining said: u I have deserved this.” 
His brother, who had become heir to all his 
father’s wealth, and learning the moderation 


FRATERNAL 4 PIETY. 


277 


manifested by his brother in this critical cir¬ 
cumstance, and his sincere repentance, went to 
see him, embraced him tenderly, and said those 
memorable words : “ Brother, by a solemn 
will, my father has instituted me heir to all 
his "fortune, but his intention was to disin¬ 
herit the man you then were, and not the 
one you now are ; this is why I offer you 
to-day an equal part, which is also your 
due. 

3.—LET US LOYE OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS, 
AND ABHOR JEALOUSY. 

Nothing is more beautiful, says the Scrip¬ 
tures, than the existence of good brothers 
living under the same roof in perfect con¬ 
cord. Ah ! how happy indeed, is the family 
united by the bonds of charity. Thiere, 
there is but one heart and one soul; there, 
are peace and harmony; this family repre¬ 
sents heaven on earth. But, if the fatal pas¬ 
sion of jealousy pass the threshold of this 
peaceful abode, if it penetrate into this 
happy family, then contentment vanishes and 
gives place to cruel anxiety, sorrow and dull 
care. Notice those children jealous of one 
24 


278 


FILIAL AND 


of their brothers or sisters, for I know not 
what imaginary cause, for a supposed pre¬ 
ference, but which their jealousy interprets 
as injustice and partiality. Alas ! how un- 
happy they are; this fatal passion gnaws 
into their very heart and consumes them in¬ 
teriorly ; it progresses, and hatred and anger 
boil in their veins; they are troubled and 
excited, their features contract, their color 
changes, their whole countenance depicts 
the agitation of their soul, their gaze is wild, 
they meditate vengeance and perhaps crime. 
Through them, a whole family is made un¬ 
happy and desolate; it is a hell f Fortunate, 
indeed, if like Cain, they do not follow his 
frightful example. If you were aware, dear 
children, to what extremes, to what crimes 
the demon of jealousy draws you when 
it has access to your heart, you would as¬ 
suredly endeavor to shun its consequences. 
If your brothers are more loved than you, 
do not become jealous, but imitate their good 
conduct, and endeavor to be, like them, 
worthy of friendship. If, on the contrary, 
you are the object of their jealousy, if they 
abuse you, if they hate you because you are 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 


279 


better than they are, respond to their bad. 
treatment and to their hate, by renewed 
friendship. 

THE TWO JEALOUS BROTHERS. 

The sovereign of a small state, having 
heard that two brothers were animated one 
against the other, with a jealousy which 
seemed to increase every day, wished to ex¬ 
perience to what extent this passion might 
lead them, so he had the elder of the two 
brothers called to his presence and he said : 
“ I wish to grant you whatever favor you 
may ask mef on condition that you - will be 
satisfied to see your brother doubly favored.” 

“ A favor! for my brother to be favored 
doubly. No, never shall I beg favors on 
those conditions, but willingly will I ask a 
punishment provided my brother will be 
doubly punished. For instance, have one 
of my eyes plucked out, then my brother 
will have two plucked out, and he will be 
blind.” 

The prince heard the answer of this cruel 
brother, and he sent him away full of shame 
and confusion, and having found the other 


280 


FILIAL AND 


brother more reasonable, he loaded him 
with'Yavors. Beware of the extremes to 
which this passion leads. 

OTHER EXAMPLES. 

RUIN. 

Two sisters being displeased at the shares 
of the property of their parents who had just 
died, manifested towards each other an ani¬ 
mosity that increased each day. Harsh 
words, abuse, threats, continual quarrelling, 
filled up their time; their home was one of 
horrid strife. They had to separate; but 
the portion allotted to each of them, was so 
unsatisfactory to them, that they found it 
impossible to agree. So they brought the 
affair before the courts, and the settlement 
that might have pleased one, displeased the 
other, who recalled the case to anothei 
court. From lawsuit to lawsuit, the whole 
fortune was squandered away, and the two 
sisters were reduced to misery, and they be¬ 
came the objects of the scorn of their neigh¬ 
bors. Just punishment for a jealousy so 


FRATERNAL PIETY. 281 

contrary to self-interest and to that of eter¬ 
nity. 


THE UNEQUAL PORTION. 

Two brothers united from their childhood, 
by brotherly love, had never separated from 
each other. They married, and they con¬ 
tinued to live for a long time without 
trouble or disagreement. The elder brother 
had children, the younger had none, and 
this was a cause of discord. The for¬ 
mer’s wife was not of a generous disposition, 
and the latter’s wife knew the advantages 
she was reaping, for they lived in common, 
and they did not share the profits of a farm 
which they were improving. A separation 
therefore became necessary, and they were 
dividing the property in the presence of the 
wives and their children. The two brothers 
wept. The younger chose his share, but 
said : “ It is not complete.” “ You are well 
aware that it is, brother,” said the elder one. 

“ I know that it is not equal to yours, 
and I have not the choice portion of it. 
Ah! brother, do you suppose because I have 


282 


FILIAL AND 


no children, that I can consent to have our 
property shared' without also sharing your 
family? I-wish to have the half of your 
children ; they number ten ; I shall take the 
five younger ones, and whatever be my 
wishes, they will also be those of my wife.” 

The tone in which he spoke, his sincerity, 
the impression he made, changed feelings of 
self-interest into an admirable and touching 
scene; they all embraced each other, and 
peace reigned henceforth in this interesting 





























































































































#• 














Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Feb. 2006 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 









0 

















